


The Drowned King

by TheMothman



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Quests, Redemption, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 60,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMothman/pseuds/TheMothman
Summary: With the world hovering on the brink of another plague of darkness, Ardyn is granted a second chance at life that he is not wholly sure he wants. He and Ignis discover a way to banish the scourge for good, but the price may be higher than either of them is willing to pay.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> On the off chance that anyone is here because they read The Sin Eater, just note that this is a completely different take on Ardyn's backstory and a total do-over on his relationship with Ignis. Check all that stuff at the door and enjoy.

It was one year to the day after the Martyrdom of the Last Lucian King that the first Anomaly occurred. 

It came on with no warning, and with nothing to indicate how dire things would become. Not an hour prior, Ignis had been preparing to address the assembled refugees and squatters who comprised Insomnia’s new citizenry. He’d written a long-overdue eulogy for their absent king. It was all quite beautiful and dignified, the courtiers had assured him, while tactfully avoiding any mention that it was also utter bullshit.

If Ignis was honest with himself, which he still occasionally was, he wanted nothing to do with any of it. Noctis was gone, and continuing to call upon his spirit and chant his name like a spell against the darkness was at once melodramatic, futile, and damning, like a fallen Lady MacBeth still trying to wash the blood from her hands.

All the same, something needed to be said, and Ignis had made peace with the fact that it might as well be by him. He had his speech memorized; without the use of his eyes, he could not rely on notes. An attendant was prepared to coach him if he needed it, but as Ignis ran through all the interminable platitudes one last time, he felt confident that the old schoolboy’s tricks of memorization would work in his favor and he would be able to get by without assistance.

They followed the Processional Way into the old quarter of the city. There were still large portions of downtown that lay in ruin. With the needs of Insomnia running more towards potable water and a functioning power grid, there had not as of yet been much need to repair the offices and high-end condos near the palace.

It had seemed fitting that for one day they not have to confront those ugly reminders of the Long Night, and so they had chosen the Obelisk of Shiva for the ceremony. Long ago reduced to a tourist curiosity, stripped of all ability to inspire contemplation and awe, the Obelisk struck Ignis as a dubious choice. Still, he had gone along with the plan without complaint, afraid that somehow the loss of his sight had left him without the ability to derive any meaning from the simple and straightforward language of symbols that others grasped innately.

He was, as ever, a man with responsibilities. Whatever traumas and terrors might have followed him out of the darkness, surely they were not greater than anyone else’s. Ignis reminded himself of that often, in order that he might serve the needs of the city without allowing ego or self-pity to interfere.

The motorcade drew to a halt outside the gates to the garden that surrounded the great Obelisk. Though Ignis longed to fling open the door himself so that the assembled crowd would not think he was incapable, it would not have been proper. Instead, he waited patiently for one of the attendants to fetch him.

He recognized the firm grip that closed around his offered arm, helping him to his feet, and he was relieved by it. “I’m glad you’re with me,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Prompto’s here too,” Gladio’s assured him. His voice came from slightly above, a little to the side, indicating that the man was always within reach of Ignis’ hand. “Are you nervous?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not at all,” Gladio assured him. “You look regal. Aloof, but in a kingly way.

Ignis managed a gracious smile, but in truth he was not terribly pleased with Gladio’s choice of compliment. There was no time to fret about it now, as he was swept up in the procession making its way towards the Obelisk.

It was clear even then that something was not right. With each step, the air became heavier, more oppressive, as if it were pushing back against them. Ignis wondered if he was the only one who felt it, this growing sense of foreboding, but he did not have time to contemplate the matter for long; it was at that moment that the ground lurched beneath them.

The Anomaly came on in an instant. It felt to Ignis as if he had been abruptly submerged in water deep enough that he could feel the pressure beating on his skull, compressing his lungs.

Gladio moved at once, probably not even conscious that he was moving at all, simply falling into the well-worn grooves carved out by his martial training. His arm came up to shield Ignis from whatever calamity might be imminent, his shoulder forming a wedge between him and the unknown encroaching threat.

But Gladio was not the only one who had become swift and cautious. Ignis anticipated the movement of his arm and ducked below it, freeing himself. He knew that his oldest companion meant well, but he didn’t understand. He could not possibly know or comprehend how Ignis’ very being revolted at the thought of being shielded from harm at the expense of someone else.

The ceremonial daggers he wore with his robes of office were in his hands, but before he could bring them to bear the pressure equalized. Ignis could still feel a trembling in his breast, as if a cord deep within him had been pulled too taut, but the oppressive sensation that had accompanied the Anomaly had already faded into nightmarish memory.

Cautiously, Ignis recalibrated his senses. He could hear the crowd around him finding their feet, turning to one another in their concern. In another moment they would all look to him, and he cast about for something to say that might calm them.

A hand brushed against the back of his wrist, catching his attention gently, without Gladio’s customary insistence.

“No need to be a hero,” Prompto said quietly, close to his ear. “Get back in the car.”

“I’m all right,” Ignis assured him. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing you missed,” Prompto replied. “Everything looks okay from here. Maybe it was some kind of earthquake?”

Ignis didn’t reply. He wanted very badly to believe what Prompto was saying, and yet he could not square it with his intellect or his instincts, both of which told him that the moment in which the world had seemed to shift on its axis was significant, and ominous.

All the same, he felt that he owed it to his people to be here, to not turn tail and retreat back into the comfort of the palace walls, a gilded cage suspended high above their struggles out here.

“We will continue,” he said. “Take me to the Obelisk.”

“Like hell we will,” Gladio growled. “Get back in the car. We’re going home.”

“Your concern is noted,” Ignis said, his voice sharper than he had intended. “But the decision is mine.”

He expected an argument, was even prepared for it, but Gladio said nothing. Prompto, too, had fallen uncharacteristically silent.

“What?” Ignis said. “What is it?”

Gladio’s grip descended on his shoulder, and without warning or preamble, began to march Ignis back toward the motorcade. There was no arguing with his superior strength; when he moved, Ignis has no choice but to be swept along.

The crowd was louder now. Through the clamor of voices and gasps, a single cry broke through: a wail of hopeless, helpless despair.

Ignis tried to turn back, but Gladio thrust him into the back of the waiting car, pushing him over so he could climb in next to him. Prompto crowded in on his other side. 

“Don’t worry,” Prompto murmured to him. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just getting a little dark.”

“What?” Ignis sat bolt upright, but Gladio grabbed him again by the shoulder and thrust him back.

“It’s dark,” Prompto said again. He was trying to be reasonable and matter-of-fact, but Ignis could hear the tremor in his voice. “Like the sun started going down in the middle of the day.”

He paused. Ignis heard the saliva moving in his mouth as he swallowed hard. “It’s getting darker.”

Ignis’ stomach clenched, a small dark knot taking shape inside of him. He was silent as the motorcade extracted itself from the crowd and accelerated back toward the safety of the palace. Only once they were back on the Processional Way did he stir slightly in his seat.

“We need to do something--”

“Just stay put,” Gladio growled. “You’re the priority here.”

“Yes, of course,” Ignis replied, cowed. He didn’t know what was really happening, couldn’t possibly know. Though Prompto had set his hand over Ignis’ and was gripping it tighter by the moment, his narrow fingers cutting into Ignis’ skin, he could not really know what his companions were seeing.

He tried to imagine it, but even during the Long Night he had not seen the darkness coming on. Cindy, who had carefully observed the whole process through her welding goggles, had described it to him once as similar to an eclipse, but with a shadow that started in the center of the sun and spread outward. Ignis could not help but remember her words now, nor could he stop himself from imagining it happening all over again: the black spot that took shape in the center of the sun, turning it red as blood before erasing it entirely.

In his mind, he saw the shadows grow longer, darker and heavier. No light could penetrate them fully; even the bright beam of the car’s headlamps only lit them faintly, as if through a dingy haze of dust and ash.

As they drew near the Platea Basileum, Ignis imagined the palace drawing into view. In his mind, he could see it very clearly: the crumbling spires stretching like skeletal black fingers up into a black sky, the castle keep like a patch of deeper black against the blackness of his blighted sight. It rose like a galleon out of the shadows, a silhouette against the darkening sky. 

Then a faint light appeared high above, a swirling glow that abruptly shaped into a beam and lanced downward, piercing through the roof of the keep. For an instant, the whole building was lit from within, so brightly that the delicate wrought ironwork on the windows were cast into sharp relief.

Ignis tensed. Prompto, who was still close at his side, must have felt it because he shifted his grip on Ignis’ arm. “Relax,” he soothed. “We’re almost there.”

Though he knew Prompto didn’t mean it, that no one really meant it, Ignis loathed being spoken to like that: as if he were helpless, an invalid. “What just happened?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Prompto replied, surprised. “I didn’t see anything.”

He paused, long enough to let out his breath in a sigh. “I think it’s getting a little lighter. The sun’s coming out again.”

Ignis’ lips compressed in thought. No matter how hard he focused, he could no longer see that dark vision of the palace and the light that burned within. It had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, perhaps no more than his agitated imagination after all. But he could not shake the feeling that it was no hallucination, no trick played by his damaged optic nerves. 

There was something inside, waiting for them.

The motorcade slid to a smooth halt, and Gladio all but carried Ignis under his arm in his haste to get him inside. Ignis allowed him that, but once they had passed through the main gate and into the entrance hall, he dug in his heels.

“Take me to His Majesty’s throne room,” he said.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe,” Gladio replied.

“No.” Ignis’ eyes narrowed. “I’m going to the throne room. If you want to keep me safe, you’ll accompany me, but I can find my way there just the same without you.”


	2. Chapter 2

All was dark, just as it should have been, yet he knew that something was terribly wrong.

It seemed that a long time had passed since he had needed to think, to feel, to exercise his senses in any meaningful way, and he was slow to get the hang of it again. In fact, he was reluctant to come back now. There was no sense pretending what had happened was a dream or a vision, anything but cold hard fact. Despite his intimacy with the institution, he had not given much thought to what death might actually entail. There had been a moment, very close to the end, when he had wondered if some punishment might await him. Nothing so gauche as Hell, heaven forbid. But there was no denying that he had been a very naughty boy, in desperate need of some discipline.

Though that was only part of the reason velvety soft oblivion had been so welcome when it came, it was still as good a reason as any. To be brought back so rudely now, he could only assume it was to correct a previous oversight.

He wondered what they might do to him that had not already been endured.

His right hip was the spot of an irritating, persistent ache. After a moment’s effort, he was able to put words to it: the rough edge of a broken tile cutting into his bare skin. When he focused on it, he realized he could feel the rest of his body radiating out from the spot. He was laying on his side, legs bent up towards his chest and hands curled beneath his chin.

Slowly, carefully, he sucked in an experimental breath. He was rewarded with the sensation of his lungs swelling and contracting in a most satisfying way, a feeling he had all of a second to contemplate before his entire body was wracked with agony.

Each vein seemed charged with liquid fire, every muscle crackled with an electric charge. He realized the cause a moment later when he felt the steady throb of his pulse in his head. His heart had abruptly begun to beat again, forcing blood back into all of his dry extremities. It was a sensation not unlike numbness in the fingers that accompanied falling asleep with an arm trapped beneath the body, only it was everywhere.

When he tried to cry out he found he didn’t yet have the wind for it. All that came forth was a soft, undignified whimper, hardly befitting the gauntlet his body was putting him through. 

He flung himself over onto his naked back and his eyes flew open. His vision was fuzzy at first, but cleared quickly. There was a vaulted ceiling high above him, a large hole torn out of it that showed the twilight-colored sky beyond.

For the second time, he tried to scream and found himself incapable. He knew this place, this sky, intimately and well.

It was the last thing he had expected or wanted to see.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, willing the tasteful halls of Insomnia to vanish once more. Wicked he may have been, and deserving of punishment, but even he did not warrant being thrust back into this place.

All at once, he was aware of voices and approaching footsteps. In a moment of theatrical self-pity, he thought to let them come upon him like this - naked and helpless - and do what they would without bothering to put up a fight at all.

His pride would not allow it. He struggled to right himself, so that he might at least meet this next humiliation with some measure of dignity, but his newly reconstituted body was slow to cooperate. With some effort he managed to turn himself over and raise himself onto his hands and knees.

Though his sight was still blurry, his hearing dampened, the old warrior’s instincts were as sharp as they had ever been. He caught a bright flash out of the corner of his eye, and he flung himself over on his side, narrowly avoiding a strike from a greatsword that would have put a quick end to his brief flirtation with rebirth.

As it was, the blade only skated along his forearm, drawing a ribbon of red. It had been too long since he had really been hurt, too long since he had felt genuine pain. The sight of his own blood pooling on the tile froze him to the spot. His assailant was kind enough to snap him out of it, delivering a kick to his face that sent him over backwards, his head striking the floor with a crack that rang in his ears.

“Stop it! What are you doing?”

He recognized the voice but was slow to place it. Raising himself again onto his knees, one hand pressed to his bleeding lip, he lifted his face and found that he was staring up at one of Noctis’ companions.

Ignis had planted himself bodily in front of him, shielding him from another strike, which, by the look of him, Gladio was more than ready to deliver. While he watched, Ignis stretched his hands out, palm up, a futile peacemaking gesture.

“Ardyn, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “You are him, right?”

He licked his lips sullenly, tasting blood in his teeth. His eyes made a slow circuit of Ignis’ face, lingering on the scars that marred his cheeks and brow.

“You’re blind, aren’t you?” he said at last.

“That’s immaterial,” Ignis replied, and Ardyn did not doubt it. Ignis may not have been able to see him, but he certainly seemed to know right where he was. He looked more than confident that he could handle whatever might transpire between them.

Ardyn wished bitterly that he could say the same about himself.

“I remember everything,” he said. “But I don’t know why I’m here, so don’t bother asking.”

Before his eyes, Ignis’ expression settled into one of deep thought. He was not angry, which would have been understandable, nor afraid, which would have been smart. Instead, he was contemplative, already setting his mind to the task at hand. Before he got a chance, Gladio’s hand came down on his shoulder, pulling him back with a motion that was not entirely gentle.

“A word, Your Highness.”

Prompto spared a concerned glance in Ardyn’s direction, then joined them. They spoke together for a moment, voices pitched low and urgent.

Ardyn could guess well enough what was being said, and so he busied himself getting reacquainted with his surroundings. He was kneeling on the floor of the throne room. Though he could not say how long he had been gone, it didn’t look like they had done much redecorating since he had left. The walls were still scorched and blackened, the floor cracked and broken in many places. Several large holes remained in the roof, windows punched through to the dim and dingy sky beyond.

A chilly wind blew in, raising a prickle of gooseflesh on Ardyn’s bare skin. That was certainly an unpleasant surprise, as was the pain radiating out from the gash on his arm, making the entire limb throb. All these sensations were new to him, or at least new again. It had been so long since he had been human in any real sense of the word, and his mind was slow to contemplate the enormity of the change. Every time he tried to make sense of it, his conscious slipped off, back into the comforting darkness that had enveloped it for so long.

“I know exactly what to do with him!”

Gladio’s abruptly raised voice, drew Ardyn’s attention back to Noctis’ three companions. That the former prince was absent did not surprise him. Even back then he had known that whoever won their final confrontation, Noctis’ fate would be the same. It had comforted him, once. Perhaps it could do the same now, if he let it.

Moving slowly, testing each motion carefully before he made it, Ardyn climbed to his feet. His legs were weak and they trembled beneath him, but they held his weight. Ignis turned half-away from the other two, tilting his head to the side, listening to Ardyn’s struggles.

“You have all the time in the world to figure out a fitting punishment for my transgressions,” Ardyn said. “In the meantime, I’d like some water. And something to wear.”

Ignis frowned slightly, puzzled.

“He is totally naked,” Prompto confirmed. “We forgot to tell you that part.”

“Indeed,” Ignis said.

“Carpet matches the drapes,” Prompto went on, sotto voice.

Ignis stepped forward, moving with his spine perfectly straight, his head up as if he were balancing some precious, fragile object atop it. Gladio made a grab for his wrist, but Ignis swayed out of his reach. One hand went to his collar, pulling out the long pin that held his ornate cloak in place. The fabric crumpled away, and Ignis caught it over one arm.

He thrust the garment out in Ardyn’s direction. His hand did not tremble, and he did not seem poised to pull away at the first sudden movement. He did keep his distance, though. Ardyn certainly could not blame him for that.

His eyes thinning suspiciously, Ardyn reached out and took the offered clothing. Ignis stepped back once, deliberately - not running away, not by a longshot - while Ardyn swept the cloak around his shoulders.

It didn’t fit, but the fabric was nice. A heavy black silk brocade, befitting a prince, or, from the look of things, a rather reluctant young scholar playing at princehood. Ardyn took great pleasure in tearing one of cloak’s tails to shreds so he could bandage his arm. He did his best to drape the other around his loins in an approximation of modesty, if only for Prompto’s sake.

“What now?” Ardyn said. He detected a familiar note of bitter humor returning to his voice, and he indulged it by adding a wry, “Your Highness.”

Ignis steadfastly refused to be insulted or annoyed. His throat hitched as he swallowed hard, working some moisture into his dry mouth.

“Now…” he said, turning back to Prompto and Gladio. “Now, we show this man hospitality.”

“You can’t be serious,” Gladio ground out.

“He’s a guest in this house,” Ignis replied. His voice was firm, commanding, a tone that Ardyn had not heard from him before. “Until we figure out just what’s going on here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone in the comments asked me what my update schedule would be. If she is still interested or anyone else is curious, I think I'm going to shoot for new chapters twice a week, on Wednesday and Sunday. This is pretty tentative and subject to change if work ramps up or I get all lazy, but pencil it in for the time being.

With Ardyn secure in one of the palace’s vacant apartments, under the watchful eye of the Crownsguard, Ignis was prepared to discuss strategy. Whatever they decided to do with their old nemesis, the matter had to be handled discreetly, and so Ignis retreated to his private quarters to wait for Prompto and Gladio.

He supposed he already knew what they would say. The three of them had been together long enough now, there were few surprises between them. After everything, Ignis did not think that he should feel as much dread as he did at the thought of facing his friends, but an unsettled sensation remained in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea what he would tell them when they arrived, how he would explain his actions in the throne room.

There was no time to worry about it now. The herald entered, unobtrusively showing his companions in. 

“Thank you for coming,” Ignis said, once he was sure they were alone. “We have much to discuss.”

“Let’s get it over with quick,” Gladio replied. “I have to go check the guard on your prisoner.”

Ignis frowned subtly. Gladio’s voice had a cold, sharp edge to it. Ignis had heard that tone in the past, but never directed at him. No, Gladio had always been patient with him, even indulgent. But then, Ignis had never defied his wishes as blatantly as he had earlier.

“I can see you’re not pleased, my friend,” Ignis said, taking great care to sound reasonable and calm. “But I know you won’t take it out on our prisoner.”

Prompto was quick to interject. “We’ve got your back. You know that. Isn’t that right, Big Guy?”

“Yeah,” Gladio said, terse but genuine. “I just don’t know what the hell you’re thinking. You know who he is…”

“Of course I know,” Ignis replied. “He’s the cause of all of all our suffering. But we can’t just kill him and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“I could.” Gladio seemed to be choosing his words carefully now. “I’m not asking you to get involved. Just give the word and my men will take care of everything. I already cut him once, and he bled like anyone else.”

Ignis could not imagine it, that the unkillable demon, the beast, the root of all their misfortune might now be vulnerable. But if Ardyn could bleed, could he not also feel pain, fear, all those mortal weaknesses he had once disdained. An Ardyn bereft of the darkness within was no Ardyn at all.

Consumed by the thought, Ignis did not reply to Gladio right away. When he didn’t speak up at once, Prompto ventured, “If he’s come back, it’s because he wants to do something shitty. He’s probably already planning it. I don’t think we should leave him alone.”

“That’s just it,” Ignis said. “I don’t think he’s come back precisely. I think rather he has been returned, like an unwanted gift or a parcel mailed to the wrong address.”

Gladio spoke up, “So we kill him again. And again. As many times as we have to, until it takes.”

“No,” Ignis told him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow it.”

“It’s not only your decision to make.”

Ignis felt a knot form in his stomach. This was well on its way to turning into an argument, and that was the last thing he wanted. Gladio’s stubbornness was legendary when he got an idea in his head, and his temper tended toward the short and incendiary. Ignis had never been on the wrong side of it before, and he was not eager to start now, but he could not let the matter lie.

His only defense was his intuition. He had to believe that Ardyn’s return was not a cruel mistake, not the oversight of an uncaring universe.

No, Ignis knew he had been sent back to them for a purpose.

Considering his words carefully before he spoke, Ignis at last said, “Not only my decision, but more mine than anyone else’s. I am regent of this kingdom. Not because I wanted it, or longed for the power, but because no one else was willing. I do not doubt that you have made sacrifices to get all of us here, but I have made this particular one and you must respect it.”

Gladio hadn’t liked that, but he said nothing at first. In the silence that followed, Prompto moved to his side and set a hand on his arm, urging restraint.

“That wasn’t very fair of you,” he said.

“Then I apologize,” Ignis replied.

Prompto’s brow twitched into a frown. “Actually, I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Fine,” Gladio said sharply, turning away. “But he’s not a guest here; he’s a prisoner and my men have orders to treat him like one. I’m not going to tell you what’s going to happen if he steps out of line. Let’s not kid ourselves. He will try something, sooner rather than later. I’m just going to remind you of who’s going to be stuck cleaning up the mess when he does.”

Ignis swallowed the knot in his throat.

“Thank you for your council,” he said, wishing that his voice did not tremble like it did. “I will be careful with your men’s lives, and with your honor.”

“You’d better be,” Gladio replied. “And not for the sake of my honor.”

With that, he turned and took his leave. Ignis didn’t try to stop him; Gladio had said his piece and he was not about to budge or recant. At least he had not questioned Ignis’ authority or legitimacy. He had been just as blunt and unsparing with Noctis, back when they still had him. It gave Ignis no comfort to think about, but perhaps some reassurance.

Prompto had lagged behind, shuffling his feet awkwardly, but now he spoke up. “You okay, Ignis?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I understand why he’s upset. How could I not? And yet--”

“You have a plan,” Prompto supplied for him eagerly, but to Ignis it seemed an overly generous interpretation. He was not even sure Prompto believed it himself, because he was quick to add, “Just don’t forget who we’re talking about here.”

“I haven’t,” Ignis assured him, wishing that people would stop telling him that. He remembered as well as anyone what Ardyn had done and what he was capable of, but he couldn’t allow those old terrors to cloud his judgement or overshadow his caution now.

He already knew what he had to do. Now all that was left was to muster the resolve to do it.

“I’m going to see him” he announced. “If I talk to him, maybe I’ll begin to understand why he is here.”

“Do you want a hand?” Prompto asked.

“No,” Ignis told him. “I’ll go alone. If I’m wrong, then I’ll be the only one to suffer for it.”


	4. Chapter 4

At the door to the sequestered room in the East Tower, Ignis dismissed his escort. There was a heavy guard at the entrance, excessively so, and they hesitated, whispering amongst themselves before they allowed Ignis to pass, alone and unattended, into the unknown frontier beyond.

He paused to collect himself before he went in, though not for long. The mere thought of what waited for him within seemed to him absurd to the point of impossibility, yet he did not have the luxury of hesitation. If anything happened to him, he did not want Gladio or his loyal men to think that they might have prevented it.

With his head high, his expression impassive, he stepped through the door.

The temperature inside the small room was notably cooler than without. Ignis knew that this particular apartment had no windows, bare walls. Nothing but a bed and a bench and an attached bath. The whole space was only a few paces across, and it was with a growing sense of dread that he realized he had no idea where Ardyn was, but that he must be very close.

“Look at you,” came a voice from the far corner. It sounded comfortable, indolent. Pleasantly raw, like velvet rubbed against the grain. “All grown up.”

Ignis swallowed hard. “I trust you are being treated well?”

“Well enough. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop, as they say.”

“You won’t be harmed,” Ignis said. “Not without due process. There’s no need to be concerned.”

“Concerned?” There was a rustle of fabric, barely more than a whisper, the soft sound of cloth sliding against skin.

Ardyn rose from his seat and took a step forward. Ignis tracked him by sound, and by the unmistakable sensation of something dark encroaching on him. Though his stomach twisted itself into knots, Ignis held his ground.

“I’m not concerned,” Ardyn said. Ignis knew that he was being examined, that Ardyn’s yellow eyes were fast upon his face, taking it in. “That would require me to care what happens now, which I just cannot seem to muster.”

“I think I understand,” Ignis said. “You lived a long time, and now it seems you must live a little longer. There’s something left for you here.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.”

“Neither do I,” Ignis said. “But if we approach the matter reasonably, rationally, I’m sure we’ll be able to find out why this has befallen you.”

Ardyn laughed, without humor. “You plan to put all to order. Banish the chaos and uncertainty before it infects your kingdom like a plague. Is that not how it has ever been for you? Cleaning up messes, making apologies, soothing bruised egos. You would degrade yourself by coming before me in the spirit of cooperation just to spare your friends the discomfort. Tell me, will they even thank you for it?”

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Ignis drew a slow, calming breath to ensure that his next words would be true beyond a shadow of a doubt. “It’s not going to work.”

“What is that, precisely? What am I trying to do to you?”

“Upset me. Drive me away. The gods alone know your reasoning, for it would not serve you in any way. I’m the only ally you have.”

“I’m beginning to remember,” Ardyn said. “You’ve always irritated me immensely. I can’t help it. There’s something about that earnest, ingratiating, apple-polishing nature of yours that rubs me the wrong way.”

Ignis drew himself up proudly. “I’ll apologize if you like, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do much about that.”

Turning away as if suddenly, unbearably bored, Ardyn made a great show of studying the naked walls of the apartment. “Tell me, Lord Scientia, are you the king here now.”

“I am serving as regent,” Ignis said firmly. “It’s different.”

“But the responsibilities are yours all the same. And the power.”

“It’s a temporary appointment,” Ignis told him firmly. He felt sure that Ardyn was trying to manipulate him again, but this had to be said, if only to assure himself it was still true. “Until a suitable candidate for succession presents himself.”

“All this time gone by and not a single illegitimate heir worming out of the woodwork? Not a single distaff Anastasia with a dubious claim on the throne? Do your kings no longer dally with the scullery maids? Or is the situation so dire that even the profiteers and con artists don’t want the job.”

“The situation is under control,” Ignis said tightly.

“It seems to be in capable hands,” Ardyn said. “You won’t get any argument from me. Though I am the true heir. I have the blood claim to the throne. Perhaps that is why I was brought back?”

Ignis’ eyes narrowed. He was beginning to regret his earlier oath of reason and logic, because what Ardyn had said did make as much rational sense as anything else he had considered. But the man did not seem to have meant it seriously. He was only testing Ignis, toying with him.

“I don’t want to jump to any conclusions,” he replied. “You’ve had a difficult time. I don’t think you should try to take on too much.”

Ardyn turned back to him. Again, Ignis was aware his tawny gaze, like a force pressing down on him. It felt as if he was being watched by a predator, a beast that lurked in the deepest shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

He fought the urge to turn away to escape it. Though Ardyn did not seem to mean him harm, at least for the time being, there was still something unsettling about being under examination.

“You’ve become quite the politician, boy. One must admire a diplomatic answer like that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ignis said. “Let me endeavor to be more direct: You’re not fit to be king of this land. I think that’s fine with you, as you seem to have no aptitude for nor desire to rule. But I don’t think you want to banish us back to the darkness, either. Since you’ve returned, I’ve felt none of your former malice or yearning for destruction. If you’re honest with me, and with yourself, can you really tell me that you are the same man?”

Ardyn was silent for what seemed a long time, long enough that Ignis began to wonder if he had not somehow vanished again, as quickly as he had been restored. At last, he spoke, but it did not sound like him. Ignis had never heard Ardyn’s voice so halting, unsteady. For perhaps the first time in centuries, he had not rehearsed every scenario countless times in advance. He had no idea what he was going to say until the words were out.

“I don’t know if you’re doing that on purpose or not,” Ardyn said with a rote, bloodless curve to his lips, a poor imitation of a smile. “Of course I’m not the same person. With the scourge gone, I am not even the same creature I was. It is but one humiliation among many that the gods have seen fit to heap upon me.”

Ignis frowned thoughtfully. “I see.”

With a disdainful snort, a shake of his head that sent his red hair tumbling over his collar, Ardyn continued. “Do whatever you want with me. I recommend torture, followed by a public execution. Something bloody, slow, theatrical. An example to anyone out there who might consider stepping out of line.”

“That’s out of the question.”

Ardyn let his breath out in a short, sharp exhalation. Ignis supposed he had meant it to sound like a derisive laugh, but it came out closer to a hiss of pain.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Ignis pressed on, hoping that Ardyn was still listening, still willing to hear him. “But you should know that you’re safe here.”

“From Gladio? I’m more than capable of handling a child like that, believe me.”

“From Gladio, yes, but not just him. I won’t presume to understand what happened to you all those long years ago, but I know it must have been terrible to endure. Nothing like it need happen again, if you’ll trust me. I’m trying to trust you.”

Once more, Ardyn was silent for a long time. Ignis waited patiently for him to reply. The man had lived an eternity in silence and solitude; it was understandable that he might be reticent to speak.

“You really mean that, don’t you?” Ardyn said at last, with an incredulous toss of his head. “I always knew you were a fool, but now I see the true depths of your idiocy.”

“I’ll take that to mean you agree,” Ignis said. “In that case, use this time to rest yourself. There’s nothing you need to be doing, nothing that is urgent. I’ll have you moved to a more hospitable room.”

“The room is fine,” Ardyn said. “It’s more than befitting a prisoner.”

“As you wish,” Ignis said, but he had no intention of obeying. Ardyn may have wanted to wile away his new life feeling sorry for himself, but even he ought to do it somewhere he could see the sun.


	5. Chapter 5

Good to his word - or perhaps his threat - Ignis had Ardyn’s accommodations changed.

The soldiers who came to escort him were quick to place shackles on his wrists, a hood over his head. Though they were far from gentle in their treatment, it was clear that they were under strict orders not to harm him. For all the show they made of pushing him around, prodding him with the hilts of their weapons, they were careful not to leave any bruises.

It might have been preferable if they had. The shock of pain might have been enough to goad him into fighting back a bit. As it was, the blow was only to his pride, which hardly seemed worth the effort of getting upset over. In truth, since coming back from that dark place, he had felt very tired, to the point that he was unable even to feel resentment over the careless handling or regret over all he had lost.

As they traversed the halls of the palace, Ardyn noted that they were all but empty. Whole wings of the great building were vacant. What he could feel of the floor beneath his feet was cracked and broken, and he frequently heard fragments of tile and glass crunching under the soles of his shoes.

It had been like that in the throne room where he had awakened as well. The palace had scarcely been restored at all since the Long Night had been upon it. Though he still wasn’t sure precisely how long he had been gone, surely enough time had passed that more progress toward restoration ought to have been made.

The responsibility should have been Ignis’, and he was struggling with it. As much as he relished the thought of the younger man’s unflappable demeanor being worn down by defeat after crushing defeat, Ardyn had to admit that it was not entirely Ignis’ fault. It would have taken a strong, steady, ruthless hand to plot a course that would steer this wounded land back to peace and prosperity. 

Ignis may have had it in him, but he was reluctant to admit it. His heart was soft, his spirit generous, and he was so afraid of failure that it had paralyzed him into inaction.

No doubt he was still thinking of the lost prince, at every step asking himself what Noctis would do. Coming up short not out of any lack of imagination or love for the man on his part, but because the universe had arranged it so that Noctis never had to face the aftermath of the Long Night. He had been made to burn brightly, and to be snuffed out before having to confront the consequences of what his death had left them with.

Noctis had been favored by the gods and these were the rewards. Ardyn did not doubt that, ever since the darkness had been lifted and the age-old prophecy fulfilled, the gods too had pulled out of this world. They would willingly concern themselves with cosmic machinations, but they had little interest in the pitiful struggles of the people down here.

To Ardyn, it seemed a sound way to live. There was nothing he could do about being here now, but he could choose not to get involved. 

The contingent of guards halted him outside the new rooms that had been set aside for him. Ardyn allowed them to walk him through the whole degrading process: face the wall, step forward, step back. Once, he could have slain them all with a flick of his wrist, but now it felt that even his most lethal blows would have bounced off harmlessly, the play of a naughty child.

Rough hands removed the shackles from his wrists but left the hood in place. It was only after he had been shoved inside and the door closed and sealed behind him that he was allowed to remove it.

He blinked against the bright light streaming into the rooms. The ceiling towered above him, large picture windows stretching all the way up to the frescos in the moulding. Late afternoon sunlight poured in, casting strange shadows over the walls and floor. For a moment, Ardyn allowed himself to be distracted by them. It had been a long time since he had seen the world illuminated by a light other than the one cast by flames.

With all his senses on alert, as if he were walking into an ambush, he took a few steps further inside.

The apartment had been made up for him, with an eye towards comfort, even welcome. The canopied bed was piled with pillows, and the battered tile floor had been laid with thick carpets. A cluster of couches ringed a small table on which a cold supper and a samovar of tea had been set out. The fireplace was stocked with wood and kindling, ready to be lit if he wished. 

There was even a dressing table, with a large ornate mirror hung above it. This Ardyn was careful to avoid. He didn’t want to have to confront his own image yet.

Two suits in royal black hung in the wardrobe and a set of bedclothes had been laid out on the foot of the bed. They were worn to the point of being threadbare, but they were nice. On guard in case he wasn’t really alone, Ardyn lifted the heavy dressing gown from the stack. He held it to his nose and inhaled. The fabric was soft with age, but smelled like nothing in particular, just gentle soap and anonymity.

Leaving the robe laid out neatly on the bed, he ventured further, to the high windows that looked out over the city. One opened onto a balcony, but it had been locked and deadbolted.

Ardyn contented himself with what he could see from inside. The sun was going down now, but it had not sunk so far as to conceal that the destruction that ravaged the palace seemed general all over the downtown district. Roads were blocked, buildings in ruins, grassy parks so overgrown that they spilled their greenery into the streets.

But there, on the periphery of the city, lights were beginning to come on. Downtown was all but dark with the coming of night, but there were places where that was not the case. He watched those small, warm oases spring to life with the setting of the sun, and he could not help but wonder who was out there. Who had come back to this forsaken place, and why.

He stood there a long time, watching night fall. It was only when the sun had sunk so far that the window became opaque and reflective that he tore himself away. He shook his head, an attempt to clear it. By his own estimation nearly an hour had gone by and he had no idea how he had spent it.

That wouldn’t do. He couldn’t drop off like that. Not until he knew why he was really here, what Ignis really wanted with him. From the look of things, the regent had gone to some lengths to see to his comfort, but Ardyn was not fooled. It was all a trick, an attempt to disorient him. Ignis may have thought he would manipulate him in his temporarily weakened state, but Ardyn knew better.

He’d given him the chance to kill him. Ignis would regret not taking it.

For the moment, though, there was little he could do. Out of idleness, he poured a cup of tea from the samovar. His body no longer needed food, had not for a long time. Ardyn could eat and drinkif he wished, but the darkness within him was the only nourishment he truly required. 

Vaguely he remembered that he had still sat down to meals for some time after he had been changed beyond the point of no return. It had been a habit that was hard to shake, though it had given him no pleasure. Food and drink had no taste, seeming to turn to ashes in his mouth. The sensation had become more pronounced, more unpleasant, as time went on, as if the serpent he nursed within his breast had sought to punish him for his vestigial humanity.

Ardyn had taken its point, and long since given up the practice. Now, though, he attempted it again. He expected the same outcome: to go through the bland, mechanical motions of holding liquid in his mouth and swallowing, a ritual bereft of meaning or significance. At least the tea was hot. That he would still be able to feel.

As he lifted the cup to his lips, the steam rose to his face. He inhaled it, and suddenly his senses were overwhelmed. He was awash in the scent of tea leaves and lavender and mint. All the delicate notes that made up the blend overwhelmed him.

He felt it run through him like an electric current, exploding flashes of light behind his eyes as ancient memories were accessed for the first time in centuries. It knocked him back like a physical blow, so hard that he had to sit down on the divan. The hot tea splashed onto the saucer, scalding his fingers.

Fine things, delicacies, rich ostentatious displays. All of these he had loved, once. He could almost remember it now. Though his hands were trembling, he lifted the cup again. The bouquet was no less intoxicating the second time, but now he was ready for it. He took a small sip, barely enough to wet his lips.

It was the best thing he had ever tasted.

Ardyn forced himself to swallow, feeling the tea burn its way down his insides. It left its flavor behind on his tongue, like a sheen of oil coating the inside of his mouth. He could not forget it, could not undo what he had done.

The curse had been lifted. He knew it now, beyond any doubt or hope for reprieve. His body had been restored, and with it his ridiculous fallible human senses. Ardyn understood now why Ignis had been reluctant to punish him; he had already known that this was worse than any torture, any retribution he might have invented. 

To live his life down here, among the mortals, as one of them. Sharing in their horrible passions and pains, it was too terrible to contemplate.

Ardyn’s thrust the cup of tea away from him. As he set it on the table, it teetered and then spilled. He felt his head growing light, as if he would swoon from the enormous injustice of it all. His hands gripped the arms of the divan to steady him and he lowered his head as tears came to his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

It seemed inconceivable to him that he would be able to rest knowing what he did, but Ardyn’s new body proved just as vulnerable to exhaustion as to every other mortal vulnerability by which it had been tested. As the sky darkened and night came on, he felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy. It was a terrible feeling, like losing himself.

Ardyn got up and began to pace. He walked the length of the room once, twice; and then enough times that he lost count. He had the half-wild notion that if he could only keep it up until morning, then the torpor that had taken hold of every limb and the wearying fog that had settled over his mind would both lift, like a spell in a fairy tale banished by the rising sun.

Even that was beyond him now. He had endured a thousand years in the darkness, but now he couldn’t even last one night under Ignis’ insistent hospitality. 

His legs suddenly felt too weak to hold him, and Ardyn sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed. Just a moment, that was all he needed. A moment to rally himself, and then he could fight again. Centuries had come and gone and he had never once strayed or wavered from his path or questioned his purpose. Surely he could last one night, if only to prove to himself that he was able.

It was not to be. Ardyn first bent and then dropped over on his side. Fully dressed, curled up on top of the covers, he fell deeply asleep.

He dreamed of a world in flames, tongues of fire that reached the sky. Skeletons of trees and foliage appeared like mirages from within the shimmering waves of heat. They were all sculpted out of black ash but perfectly preserved in form, right down to the petals on the flowers and the tiny buds on the ends of the branches. As if all had been burned in an instant and frozen in time.

A cluster of deer had been caught in the conflagration, consumed by flames before they even had a chance to run. Their ashen remains were arrested in the act of bending to graze.

Before he had time to react, Ardyn was engulfed in fire as well. The blaze ignited his skin, his hair, but he did not burn. Indeed he did not feel the heat at all, and was only distantly aware of his clothing dissolving into wisps of black smoke.

His hand went to the medallion suspended from a cord at his throat. It was the only thing that was not aflame, though it was scalding to the touch. Ardyn closed his fingers around the little metal disk, feeling it burn its imprint onto his skin.

A familiar incantation came to his lips: “Ifrit, god of war, grant your acolyte a good death. Shield your disciple until he grows to be a warrior worthy of you.”

Almost before the words were out, he felt the presence of the Astral god.

The ground opened up beneath him, a chasm that stretched down into the molten heart of the earth itself. Flames erupted around him, assuming the shape of an outstretched hand, each finger tipped with a talon.

Ardyn felt his strength rush out of him. He collapsed onto his knees as the cupped palm of the god lifted him clear of the fire, the smoke, the wreckage of the land below. The darkness closed around them, cooling the sweat on his skin. He began to shiver. 

His clothes had been burned away, and he felt Ifrit’s eyes on him. Licking over him like cold fire.

_As strong as ever, my servant._

The voice echoed in Ardyn’s head, making his back teeth vibrate.

“No, my lord,” he replied. “But I can be strong again. Trust me with your power. If we cannot see the world in darkness, then we will see it in flames. As you wish, so shall it be.”

 _No._ The word reverberated through him, rattling him to his very core. His heart throbbed along with it.

_As proud and as vengeful. But no longer as lovely as you were in your youth._

Ardyn lifted his eyes, stealing a glance at Ifrit’s face. A human visage crowned by the horns of a beast; he was beautiful beyond language, beyond human apprehension. Capricious, dangerous, petulant, but intoxicating in spite of all that, if not because of it.

“I failed you,” Ardyn said. “This I know. But did you not fail me as well?”

Fresh tongues of flame appeared in the hollow of Ifrits hand, licking around Ardyn’s bent knees. They flickered over his calves, leaving fiery trails on his skin in their wake, and then slowly began to ascend his thighs. They did not burn, but he felt them on his skin: a pressure like trailing fingertips, like hands exploring his body.

The flames arched across his loins, spiraled up his naked chest. One skated across a nipple, sending a sudden shock of pain through him, like a pinch from amorous fingers. Ardyn sucked in a sharp breath as the flames dissipated on the sides of his throat, leaving dark bruises in the shape of a mouth filled with needle-sharp teeth.

_I do not accept the sacrifice of the Chosen King. It does not please me. I desire another, as is my right._

Ardyn’s eyes narrowed. In spite of the heat of the flames, it felt as if his insides were slowly solidifying into a lump of ice.

“How dare you ask such a thing of me?” he bit out. “Send your fire. Do your worst. I will never debase myself so.”

_You will sit the throne, the last king of the blood. Short will be your reign, my servant, but long your reach._

“Never,” Ardyn said again. “Though you may wait a thousand years, though you may punish me with a hundred mortal lives, I will never submit. Not for their sake.”

He might have said more, might have raged for hours, showered curses upon the god’s unhearing and indifferent ears, but at that moment the fire blazed up one last time. He felt it for an instant, caressing his body, probing inside him, even slipping into his mouth when he opened it to protest.

Knowing every inch of him, intimately.

It burned before his eyes, a light so bright it blotted out all else. Consuming mortal and god alike.

***

Ardyn awoke with sunlight streaming through the windows, landing full on his face.

He sat bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering in his chest. He could still feel the heat dissipating on his skin, and in the first disorienting moments after waking, he swore he saw a curl of smoke drifting from the ends of his hair.

It had been a true dream, a dream of prophecy. Of that there was no doubt. The old god of war and dischord had spoken to him after centuries of silence. Ifrit, who had come to him when he languished in the darkness, who had shown him divine mercy when the other gods had all turned their backs and shielded their eyes.

Fitting, then, that he would return only to make such an impossible demand.

He heard the sound of a key rattling in the locked door. Ardyn was momentarily gripped by senseless panic, and he hastened to smooth his rumpled clothing and shake his hair back into some semblance of order. He had just enough time to master his expression into something neutral, inscrutable, before the door opened.

It did not swing wide, instead only gapping a little away from the frame, barely enough to allow the regent to enter.

Ignis took one step inside and then was still a moment, getting his bearings. His senses had sharpened following the loss of his sight, and he seemed to be able to pinpoint Ardyn’s location effortlessly.

“I’m glad you’re awake. I was beginning to worry. It’s nearly noon, you know.”

I said it with a hint of discomfort. Ardyn could well imagine that for a man like Ignis sleeping into the afternoon was quite the cause for embarrassment. Everything about him suggested early morning workouts, coffee and toast and fresh fruit for breakfast. Ardyn’s own temperament was better suited to languid late nights, wine and cheese in bed in the middle of the day.

“You must have been tired,” Ignis went on, his voice infuriatingly sympathetic. “The guards tell me the food was not to your liking.”

In spite of his better judgement, Ardyn glanced toward the table where last night’s meal still sat untouched. The spilled tea had dripped off the edge and soaked into the rug.

“You’re being ridiculous about all this,” Ardyn said.

“Am I?” Ignis replied. “Because it seems to me that you are the one determined to act like a child. You would refuse any offer of help, and for what? Your pride? Some stubborn determination to hate this new life that you have been given?”

“I never asked for this new life,” Ardyn snapped.

Ignis did not flinch before his raised voice. “You didn’t need to ask. Anyone would want what you have now. You brought death to this land once, and so you cannot plead ignorance of what death means now.”

“You have no idea why I’m really here.” Despite his best efforts to keep it under control, Ardyn found it impossible to keep his voice from tightening, as if the words were being choked off by his constricting throat. He wanted to sound aloof, haughty, distantly amused, but he could not. This was his life they were talking about. “You cannot know why the gods have done this to me.”

“And you do?” Ignis retorted.

In the silence that followed, Ardyn knew that the look on his face betrayed him. Ignis was not able to see it, but seemed to know it was there all the same. At once, his demeanor softened. 

“Do you?” he asked, once more the calm and well-bred voice of reason. “Ardyn, what are you not telling me?”

It played upon Ardyn, in spite of his best efforts at scorn and derision. Ignis was a good man, and he desperately wanted to help; there was no arguing with an artlessly sincere mind like that. There was nothing he could do in the face of such infuriating naivete.

Without intending to, Ardyn glanced away, escaping Ignis’ measured, sightless gaze. 

“Forgive me,” Ignis said, genuinely contrite. “I should not have just burst in on you. Of course you are hesitant to answer. Wait a moment, please.”

He turned on his heels and walked back to the door. Ardyn watched how he carried himself, with his back perfectly straight, his limbs balanced carefully as if they were made of some fragile, fine-spun glass. He took each stride with certainty, but the longer Ardyn observed the more clear it became that he was not confident at all. He stretched out his foot in front of him, feeling carefully with his toe before he took a step.

At the door, he paused, and knocked to be let out. Ardyn heard him conferring briefly with the guards, asking for breakfast and coffee.

While he waited, Ardyn looked around. At the rumpled bed clothes, the shabby shirt and trousers he had been wearing since the day before. They were starting to smell.

Embarrassed that he had allowed himself to be come upon in such a state, Ardyn got up and went to the wardrobe. Ignis glanced back, listening, when he began to move about, but once he was satisfied that Ardyn was behaving himself he went back to speaking to the guards, giving Ardyn a measure of privacy.

One day, he might regret turning his back on him, but not now. Ardyn was playing at domestication, at least for the time being. He retrieved one of the black suits from the wardrobe and dutifully went behind a folding screen to change.

As he stripped off his clothing, he realized he was in desperate need of a bath. Another pathetic ritual of self-care that he had long since forgotten about. With a sigh, he dressed: trousers against bare skin, a shirt left open at the throat. He forwent the tie and jacket. 

He padded out from behind the screen on bare feet, tossing his socks aside. Ignis returned from the door carrying a silver tray holding two delicate china cups full of coffee. He sat on the divan and waited for Ardyn to join him, passing one of the cups to him.

Ardyn held it cradled in his hands, letting the heat of the liquid warm his chilled fingers. A moment later, the steam reached his nose, bringing with it a potent aroma that made his stomach clench and growl. Ignis heard it, of course, and he frowned over the rim of his cup.

“You’ll have to eat. If there’s something special you want I’ll see if it can be procured. We are short on supplies at the moment.”

Ardyn signed. He felt suddenly very tired. Steeling himself, he sipped the coffee. The taste was still intense, but no longer overpowering. He gulped the bitter mouthful down and said, “I need nothing from you.”

“So you say,” Ignis replied. “And yet I cannot believe it.”

“Believe what you like. Believe it until your kingdom comes down around your head because you have spent your time in here, coddling and feather clucking around your greatest nemesis.”

Again, that slight frown, indicating thought more than displeasure. “You wanted to say something important to me a moment ago, did you not?”

Ardyn was incredulous, and not a little exasperated. “How are you so sure of such things? You can’t even see my face.”

“My intuition is good,” Ignis replied. “I follow it, even when I am uncertain, and it generally steers my course true. It has again, I assume, to evoke such a curious reaction from you.”

He wanted to deny it, of course, but it would be a lie if he did. The dream Ifrit had sent him had not faded in the slightest with the coming of the day. He could still recall it with perfect clarity, so much so that he could feel the vibration of the god’s voice in his mind, smell the smoke of that blighted world. No longer the fate that awaited this planet, but rather the fate that awaited him if he ever gave in.

Ignis reached over and touched Ardyn’s wrist. His fingers were cool, banishing the lingering sensation of heat from his skin. Suddenly anxious, unsure of whether the burning world or the sunlit one was real, Ardyn raised his eyes and anchored them to Ignis’ pretty, worried face.

“Talk to me,” Ignis said. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Ardyn replied. “I’m reflecting upon what I know. I understand now, why I have been brought back like this.”

Ignis sucked in a sharp breath. “This is good news.”

“For you, it is fortuitous news indeed. For me, it is merely the settling of debts, the coming of a reckoning long since forestalled. The Lord Ifrit has always been my patron, since before human memory. He wants me now, all to himself. As the other gods called to your king, so does he call to me. His hunger for royal blood no less than the rest of them.”

Ignis did not say anything right away. He sat back, withdrawing his hand. Ardyn was surprised at how much he missed its comforting weight.

The regent sipped his coffee slowly, turning the confession over in his mind. At last, he spoke. “If this is true, then you know what must be done. Once the gods have spoken, their will cannot be contradicted or denied.”

“Are you asking me to die? For you? You might as well have the balls to come out and ask me, then.”

“You’re right,” Ignis said. “And that is what I’m asking you. Take your place on the throne, as Noctis did before you. The last Lucian king.”

“Are you trying to appeal to my vanity, boy?”

“No. To your humanity.”

Ardyn should have laughed, a fact that he realized too late. By the time the sound came to his lips, it sounded more nervous then derisive.

“Do you really think that will work? No. If you want me dead, you’re going to have to get your hands dirty. Drag me to the throne room, cut my throat. Spill my blood, if you want your comfortable kingdom back.”

“You think I would not do that?” Ignis replied mildly. “I spent years in the darkness, slaying countless demons. I am not discomforted by the smell of blood. I would kill you myself if I thought it would make a difference. But you know as well as anyone that the sacrifice must be made willingly.”

“Which Noctis did. The beloved, blessed prince who can do no wrong. Who even the Astral gods adore. He was happy to die for the good of all.”

“No, not happy,” Ignis replied. “Never happy. It took ten years before he was ready. I don’t blame him for that, or hate him. And so I can neither blame nor hate you if you need time.”

“A decade,” Ardyn echoed. “My, that must have been an unendurably long time for you. But not for me. I lived a millennia. A thousand years spent facing the most terrible loneliness and torment. Not once did I think of dying then. Why should I consider it now?”

Ignis sighed. “Because I don’t think you have any love for this life. I don’t understand it, but I can’t know what you’ve been through. If you wish to die, there’s no need to hang on out of stubbornness. You need not fight anymore.”

Ardyn turned away again. This time, when Ignis reached out for him he set his hand gently over Ardyn’s, chafing his chilled fingers. “Of course, it’s a lot to take in. For me as well. I’ll give you time to think.”

As he stood, Ardyn snuck a glance at him, taking in the shape his lean body cut in its fine clothes. A stolen look that was cut short when Ignis turned back to him.

“Ardyn?” he said. “Please do think hard. I know you’ll make the right decision.”


	7. Chapter 7

Ignis was deeply troubled as he left the western wing. 

Ardyn, he knew, was a well-seasoned liar and yet he could not bring himself to disbelieve the man’s wild tale. Though he knew it marked him as a hopelessly soft-hearted fool, unfit for the office he had thrust upon himself, he took very seriously what Ardyn had said, and the way in which he had said it. Though he might bluster and rant and hurl impotent threats at god and man alike, there was no denying the way his voice had grown quiet, even grave, when he had spoken of the Infernian. Just as there was no faking the hitch in his words when he had told Ignis of the terrible demand that had been made of him.

He had always planned to approach the situation with as much fairness as he could muster, to make Ardyn believe that he could be a confidant, or at least an ally. What he had not expected was how real the whole charade would become. Something in Ardyn’s voice had triggered real sympathy in him. The rich, silken purr had been rubbed raw in places, like a fine brocade grown threadbare and patchy. Ignis did not know what about it drew him so, but he felt almost preternaturally attuned to it, as if to the distant strains of Siren’s call.

It would be better to think on the matter a while, before he brought it to Prompto and Gladio. It was not Ignis’ intention to conceal anything from them, but his brief meeting with Ardyn had left him feeling unsettled. Though he did not think he had done anything wrong, he didn’t want the pity Ardyn had roused in him to be misconstrued.

He needed to clear his head. Many had told him that the palace gardens were still in disarray, the fountains and gazebos smashed to ruins, the trees either dead or grown into wild snarls. Save for the occasional shift of broken stone beneath his feet, Ignis could not tell, for he could see none of it. In fact, the gardens often comforted him these days. He could smell the blend of cultivated flowers gone feral from neglect and wild invasive species, mixing together into a singular perfume.

The other day, he had even heard a bird singing, though it had broken off quickly when he had drawn near. 

It never failed to calm his spirit, but this time as he set out down one of the broken paths into the garden, he couldn’t seem to relax. He could not shake the feeling that there was something suspended over him, a sword dangling from a single gossamer thread, poised to fall at any moment.

Ignis did not know how much time had passed before he realized he could no longer feel the sun on his skin. It was still the middle of the day and the weather was pleasantly warm. The sky must have clouded over; perhaps it was going to rain. That would be nice, though the engineers overseeing the reconstruction projects wouldn’t like it. He did have to think of them first.

He ventured further into the garden, wondering if he would be caught out in the storm. In fact, he was half hoping for it, but no rain ever came.

Ignis realized it all at once: the anticipatory hum in the air, the pressure in his head. These were not caused by a storm front rolling in, nor was the sudden disappearance of the sun at midday.

When he finally grasped what was really happening, it stopped his feet dead in his tracks and froze his breath in his lungs. Ignis hesitated, but before he could make a move he heard his name called softly from behind.

They were coming toward him quickly, a confusing cacophony of footsteps. Ignis could not make sense of them, and so he was slow in starting back the way he had come. A moment later, they burst into the courtyard, and then Gladio was at his side, catching hold of his arm.

“What is it?” Ignis said. “Not like the day of the ceremony…?”

Gladio did not have a chance to answer. It was at that moment that the sky ripped open.

They heard a sound high above, like a deafening peel of thunder. Ignis felt it inside his skull, a tremendous explosion that reverberated all through him. It was the first Anomaly magnified by ten, by a hundred. As it faded, Ignis head the sound of something striking the paving stones.

The rain, at last, he thought. But then there was a second impact, and a third much closer, far too heavy to be rain or even hail. The next falling object struck a trellis that had once held the garden’s prize rose bushes, smashing the wood to splinters.

A sickly rotten smell had begun to invade the garden, like the stench of decay carried on the wind from a long way off. Gladio had brought a contingent of guards with him, and they all seemed to see the cause all at once. A cry of horrified disgust went up from the soldiers, but not from Gladio. He remained grimly and stoically silent as he swept Ignis under the relative shelter of a decaying gazebo. Ignis submitted to it meekly. Carried along again by the will of someone else.

The impossible storm was over in less than a minute, the second Anomaly lasting no longer than the first. In the aftermath, Gladio would not speak of what had happened. He fairly dragged Ignis back to the safety of the castle keep without a word. 

Ignis was so startled that he did not think to press him. It was only later, after Gladio had left again to oversee whatever cleanup was necessary in the wake of the Anomaly, that he began to regret not saying anything. Gladio may have thought he had become inefficient and sentimental since Ardyn’s return - indeed he may not have been wrong on that account - but Ignis was still regent and he deserved to know the state of his kingdom.

He fully intended to give Gladio a piece of his mind as soon as he returned, but when Ignis encountered him next, in the private meeting room adjacent to the King’s chambers, Gladio was winded, ashen, deeply shaken. Ignis had never seen him in precisely such a state.

Prompto joined them soon after, and it was only then that Gladio gave his report, as if reluctant to tell the tale more than once.

“The darkness came on again,” he said. “Like the sun going down in the middle of the afternoon, exactly like it was on the day we went to the Obelisk. It was a lot worse, though. It started with black spots in the sky. Not just black in color, but black like a void. Like a total absence of light. They were the opposite of stars. They stretched out, expanding into a black fissure, like a crack down the middle of the sky. That’s where they came from, those things.”

Ignis realized that he had been holding his breath, and he tried to let it out slowly so that the others would not know.

“They weren’t demons,” Gladio went on. “They just looked like them, a little. Like those things that came out during the Long Night, only they were all wrong. Twisted and mutated. Most of them didn’t look like they could have lived long even if they had survived the fall. A few of the small ones still had some life left in them, though. My men took care of them, but it could have been worse.”

“Maybe they were, like, the rejects,” Prompto suggested. “The ones that were too messed up to be born during the Long Night. It could have been a freak happening, a monster miscarriage.”

“I don’t think so,” Ignis said at last, his voice so soft that the others had to strain to hear. “I think it was an escalation of the event that happened on the day of the ceremony. We will have to assume that things will only get worse.”

“But the day of the ceremony, that happened because of you-know-who,” Prompto said. “It was because he came back.”

“Then this is because of him too,” Gladio said brusquely. “As least that’s my guess. Of course, I haven’t had a chance to cozy up to him and catch up on all the latest gossip yet.”

Ignis frowned, deliberately ignoring the insinuation. 

“You’re not wrong,”he said at last. “What is happening to us now has something to do with Ardyn. Though I can promise you he is not the cause of it, I think he has the power to stop it.”

“So get him to do it already,” Prompto said.

“Just tell me what you need from him,” Gladio added. “I’ll convince him.”

“No,” Ignis replied. “I’m sorry, but he won’t respond to violence or threats. I don’t think that there is any real hatred left in him, but he hasn’t realized that yet. For so long, it was all he knew and his soul has been distorted by it. It needs time to regain its original shape.”

“Sorry if I can’t manage a lot of sympathy for him,” Prompto said.

“You don’t have to,” Ignis told him. “All you need is your faith in me. I will continue to work on him, in my own way. I’ve seen how he is now and I’m confident that he’ll do what he must, if we give him time.”

“We might not have time,” Gladio growled. “We’ll have demons in the streets again before long. Do you want to go back to that, Ignis? Because I’m betting that he sure does.”

“You know that if it comes to that I’ll fight alongside you, until the very end. But until it does, all I ask is that you pray for my success.”

***

It was with a knot in his throat and a heaviness in his chest that Ignis made his way back to Ardyn’s rooms. He had not wanted to return so soon, but the second Anomaly had forced his hand. 

He must win Ardyn over to their side, the side of humanity. Ignis was as sure of that as he had ever been of anything in his life, but he no longer knew how long he would be able to stand up to Gladio. Though the man was his oldest companion, they had never really fought before. If they did, Ignis knew as well as anyone that he might damage the friendship beyond repair. Gladio held grudges, and he was touchy about his pride.

All the same, Ignis was certain that he was right this time. If Ardyn would only give him a sign, even the tiniest of indications, that he was thinking about doing the right thing, then Ignis would be able to keep taking his part, defending him against a world that wanted him dead.

As he drew near the sequestered room, the two guards outside the door stopped talking to each other abruptly. Ignis heard them whispering, low and urgent, as he came around the corner, and then heard their conversation sharply broken off. As they stepped aside to let him through, he could feel their eyes on him, glaring with reproach.

Once he was inside, with the door closed and latched behind him, Ignis paused to get his bearings. He located Ardyn over by the window, heard him turn without haste or surprise, to look in Ignis’ direction.

“Oh, are you back so soon?”

Ignis felt his heart sink. He knew what Ardyn had been looking at out there, what he had been waiting for.

“I suppose you already know why I’m here?” he said quietly.

“About the unusual precipitation? Yes, it was hard to miss. Have you come to chat about the weather?”

“You know why I’ve come,” Ignis replied, making an attempt to sound stern.

Ardyn only laughed at him, a soft breath of laughter that made Ignis’ head swim with the disorienting need to lean closer, take it all in.

“I get the feeling you’re not in the mood for small talk. Fortunately, I have good news for you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Ignis said. “What is it?”

“Say please.”

He heard Ardyn move, swaying across the room in a swish of fabric. He sat down on the divan, stretched luxuriously. There was something different about him this time, something decadent in his manner, perhaps even flirtatious.

Ignis’ cheeks colored at the thought. It was an absurd notion, but perhaps demons brought out Ardyn’s amorous side.

“Please,” he said quietly. “You know this is important. We all need you.”

Ardyn was quiet a moment. When he spoke next his voice had become serious, and Ignis had the distinct impression that he was spoiling the man’s fun with his firm refusal to be goaded.

“If I am to live like this, fully human with all the pains and tribulations that attend it, then I’m at least going to enjoy it before unceremoniously giving it all up.”

“Yes, I can understand that,” Ignis said. “Of course, we can accommodate your demands.”

“I want a decent meal, no more of these reconstituted rations. And I want wine. Right now, performing the sacrifice is unthinkable, but if I were drunk I might change my mind.”

“That’s reasonable,” Ignis replied. “Those should be easy.”

“Juice of the poppy plant,” Ardyn continued, as if Ignis had not spoken at all. “Do not pretend that you’ve become so good and pure and uptight that you no longer have that.”

Again, Ignis felt a blush come to his cheeks. “I’ve never seen such a thing, but I’m sure someone knows how to get it.”

“You keep interrupting,” Ardyn said. “I haven’t even gotten to the most important thing: A woman. Or a man. I’m not particularly picky. Find me a decent whore for the night, and if I’m satisfied I’ll consider giving you what you want.”

“That…” Ignis frowned. “I don’t know. I could not, in good conscious, ask anyone to do that against their will.”

“You think I haven’t had willing lovers in the past?”

“I wouldn’t presume,” Ignis murmured, disliking the direction of the conversation immensely.

“No, you would not,” Ardyn said, his tone one of clipped finality. “So stop arguing with me about it and find me someone less uptight than you for my bed.”


	8. Chapter 8

The wine came first, while Ardyn was still soaking in a long overdo bath. One of the numerous and indistinguishable guards, armed to the teeth and making no effort to hide his resentment, entered and, without a word or a glance in Ardyn’s direction, banged a covered dish down on the table.

Ardyn was faintly amused by the impotent display of defiance, as well as the rough treatment of what could only be Ignis’ first peace offering. Surely that boy was dashing about like mad, trying to find the things Ardyn had asked for, telling himself that he must do it with exactness so that it could not be said that for the the want of a cup of wine or an eager slut the entire kingdom was lost.

He would not have asked for help, of that Ardyn was sure. Perhaps he was simply embarrassed by the errands, but he would not have told anyone about them. It certainly explained his guards’ lack of manners - they had no idea why they were being asked to make deliveries to their prisoner - but Ignis still ought to know better than to let such impudence persist in his ranks.

The little idiot probably had idealistic notions about allowing everyone the freedom of opinion and expression. He hadn’t yet realized that the very reason they bothered to have kings at all was to spare everyone the tedious business of having to think for themselves all the time.

It wasn’t his problem, Ardyn reminded himself as he rose from the bath, belting a robe loosely around himself so that it hung open at the throat, revealing a healthy dusting of red curls on his chest. It did not have to be his problem, for he was no monarch and had no intention of ever being one again.

Curious as to what Ignis had managed to come up with, Ardyn lifted the silver lid off the dish. Plated beautifully on fine china underneath was a venison steak, tiny new potatoes, some rather pitiful looking but still expertly braised vegetables. Off to one side, in a tiny ramekin, was a delicate souffle made with lemon and sweet cream.

Nothing exciting there; Ignis had played it safe. Even so, there was an undeniable professionalism to the the meal, a polish that no prison cook could ever hope to achieve. Ardyn speared one of the potatoes and bit into it, finding the seasoning impeccable.

Next to the food was a bottle of wine from the royal cellars, and a jeweled flask containing an amber liquid. A sip revealed it to be an excellent brandy.

Foregoning a glass, Ardyn took the flask and retreated to half-recline on a divan. He had been worrying entirely too much, and it was high time to put a stop to that. There was little he could do about being thrust back into a mortal body, but at least he could finally get drunk enough that it would not matter.

The first few mouthfuls went right to his head. When he closed his eyes, the room spun pleasantly around him. Visions of the Anomaly earlier that day passed like shadows in the insides of his closed lids. Those malformed and misshapen demons, try as he might he could see nothing beautiful or hopeful in them.

The sound of the door unlatching interrupted his thoughts. Ardyn pushed himself upright, turning so he could face the intruder, fully expecting another round of attitude from his sullen keepers.

To his surprise, it was Ignis who slipped inside. He had changed out of the stiff raiment of the royal court and into a pair of soft corduroy trousers and a white button down shirt, cuffed to the elbows. His hair was loose around his face, unstyled, still a little damp from the shower.

“I came to see if you were enjoying your meal.”

Ardyn hadn’t touched the food, preferring to drink his dinner instead. Somehow, he did not think that would go over well with Ignis, though, so he told him, “It was sufficient.”

“Good,” Ignis said. “I made it myself.”

Ardyn hadn’t known that. He glanced back toward the plate full of food that was rapidly growing cold, thinking with more care than before about the elegant presentation, the careful seasoning.

“I brought you something else,” Ignis went on, tentatively. He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt, drawing out a tiny filigree box, no bigger than the pad of Ardyn’s finger. Ardyn could guess what it contained: a pinch of opium powder, which had likely cost Ignis more than a little discomfort to obtain.

“You can have it now,” Ignis went on quietly, taking out a small delicate pipe and setting it on the table next to the box. “Or perhaps you prefer to have your final request fulfilled first?”

That got Ardyn’s attention. Though the alcohol was working on his mind and body, making him laconic and indolent, he was curious as to what Ignis thought his type was. What kind of lover would a proper young man like this be able to find on short notice.

“Show me,” he said. “If you’ve done well, maybe I’ll let you stay and watch.”

Ignis’ throat hitched. At first, Ardyn thought the offer had embarrassed him, but when Ignis didn’t flush or stammer as he had expected, he wasn’t so sure. Ignis lowered his eyes, his voice dropping until it was little more than a whisper, but with an undeniable strength behind it that forced the words through, regardless of how much it pained him to say them.

“I told you already, I don’t want to get anyone else involved in this. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt if I am truly the fool they all think I am for trying to trust you. But I do remember before, when we travelled to the crater together. The four of us, and you. I recall very clearly the way you looked at me then, though I think I was doing my best to pretend I didn’t notice. It was a look I had seen before, a few times. You wanted me. I think you might still. Though I can no longer see, people tell me my appearance has changed very little. Perhaps I am still good enough to fulfill the bargain I struck with you.”

In spite of everything Ardyn thought he had known about the man, that was the last thing he had expected. It was true that he had found Ignis beautiful once, the way he used to find all things young and vital and full of life to be beautiful. He hadn’t thought about it since being reincarnated, though. Though Ignis was not wrong when he said his appearance had not changed, his nature had. There was something distant, cautious, aloof about him; something that repelled admiring eyes and warned wandering minds to stay away.

His beautiful, brittle, immaculate self as it was now, it was the work of many long years of hardship. Ignis was like a steel blade, tempered in fire many times to make him impervious to damage or wear, but the unintended consequence was that he may have become too sharp and hard to ever be handled.

“That was quite the speech,” Ardyn said. “I can imagine you rehearsing it before you came. You are full of surprises; I can appreciate that about you. But you’re forgetting one thing. I don’t have the time or the desire to teach a naive little virgin how to please me. I think we’re both getting a little too old for that.”

Ignis dropped his eyes still further, so he was practically staring at his feet. By the rough edge to his voice the next time he spoke, Ardyn wondered if it had not been to hide a sheen of tears.

“I’m no virgin,” Ignis said. “I may be naive compared to you, but I’m not ignorant. And, as you well know, I’m a quick study and good at taking orders.”

Against all common sense, Ardyn was beginning to seriously consider the proposal. Perhaps it was just the brandy he’d drunk lowering his inhibitions, but Ignis appeared to him like a flawless marble statue made flesh, a sad-eyed, serious Pygmalion begging him to bring it to life.

“You may regret this,” Ardyn said quietly, with no malice to his voice.

“Not if you’re good to me,” Ignis replied. “And even if you aren’t, surely I have endured worse on the hope of still less.”

“Come here,” Ardyn told him. “Beside me.”

Ignis sucked in a deep breath to steady himself, then he felt his way by slow and measured steps over to the divan and sat down. Ardyn passed the flask of brandy to him. It was more than half empty by now, but there was enough to calm Ignis’ nerves.

“Drink some,” he said. “And tell me about those others. The ones you speak about with no sentimentality or fondness at all.”

Ignis raised the flask to his lips and took a long swallow. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and said shakily, “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Not Noctis, then?” Ardyn asked.

“No, never him. It would have been improper. Are you asking only to hurt me?”

Ardyn reached out to draw his fingers through Ignis’ hair. It was soft and silken, as if it had never been tangled in Ignis’ life. “Not to hurt you. But you know I could never have gone through with it if you had.”

Ignis sighed. “Then you don’t have to worry. There were one or two girls at school, a handful of men and women - fellow Hunters all of them - during the Long Night. They all meant very little. We were curious, or afraid, or in despair, and so we came together for a few moments, that’s all. I wanted… That is to say, my body wanted something. I was simply fulfilling a need.”

“It’s both dramatic and anti-climactic when you put it like that,” Ardyn said. His hand moved lower, tracing the shape of Ignis’ ear, exploring the curve of his throat. Ignis’ pulse was high, and he took another long drink of brandy.

“Say you accept, and we can fulfill any needs that you might have.”

“In good time,” Ardyn said. “First, I want to see what I’m agreeing to. Undress, right here where I can see you.”

Ignis hesitated only a moment, then he got briskly to his feet and moved around in front of the divan. He undid the first button at his collar, then he stopped.

“Lower the lights, please.”

He certainly was full of surprises, Ardyn thought, as he reached over to dim the lamp by way of a switch. The curtains were already drawn against the fading daylight.

“I’ve done it,” he informed Ignis. “There’s only a little yellow light directed at you. It’s very becoming; it almost hides how pale your cheeks are.”

Ignis went back to what he had been doing, unbuttoning the shirt all the way to the navel before parting it over his chest, letting it slip back over his shoulders. His skin was pale but milky. A decade of darkness had robbed his flesh of all its sun-kissed color, but he did not have a sickly pallor. His creamy skin was marred only by the shadows cast by his toned abdomen and his dark nipples, made small and tight by nerves.

He carefully folded the shirt and set it aside, then he toed off his loafers and pushed him aside with his foot. His hands hovered for a moment over the buckle of his belt, and then he undid the clasp. The corduroy trousers slid down over his narrow hips, and Ardyn found his eyes drawn to his slowly unveiled cock.

It was delicate but sturdy, pale like the rest of him and crowned by golden curls. Perhaps he was imagining Ardyn’s eyes on them, or he felt them somehow, with those uncanny instincts of his, but the organ twitched and hardened minutely.

Ardyn got to his feet, taking a step forward and reaching out to lay hands on his prize. But Ignis set a palm in the center of his chest, halting him.

“Wait. Now it’s your turn. Show me.”

“You can’t see.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll manage.” 

Without waiting for a response, his fingers went to the knot in the front of Ardyn’s robe, tugging it open. Ardyn shrugged out of the thin garment, letting it flutter to the floor at his feet. Before it had even finished falling, Ignis’ hands were on his chest, fingers boldly exploring his broad shoulders, the hollows above his clavicles.

Ignis’ hands moved lower, trailing through the red curls on his chest, tracing the cleft between his well-defined pectoral muscles then over his corded abdomen. At the hollow between Ardyn’s hips, he hesitated.

“Touch it,” Ardyn said with a hoarse edge to his voice. “Touch me.”

Ignis’ hand dipped lower, his fingers moving over the study shaft of Ardyn’s cock, down to swirl around the head. Then back up, to briefly cup the sack nestled behind it.

“It’s big,” Ignis said around a knot in his throat.

“Does that excite you?”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Ignis flushed. “I was merely stating an objective fact.”

Ardyn laughed softly, drawing Ignis forward so he could kiss him. He closed his hands around his narrow waist, holding their bodies together. Ignis murmured between their pressed mouths, shifting his hips against Ardyn’s.

One of Ardyn’s legs went up between Ignis’ thighs, pressing against his groin. He felt Ignis’ cock twitch and stiffen a few degrees, sliding against the bulge of his femur. Ardyn shifted his grip, stroking down the small of Ignis’ back to cup his shapely buttocks.

“You have a nice body. Lean and hard and compact, more like a Hunter than a statesman. That is objective fact as well.”

Ignis was breathing hard against Ardyn’s damp and still parted lips. “Tell me what you want. What position I should assume for you.”

“What’s the hurry?” Ardyn tightened his grip, forcing Ignis up onto his toes, grinding against him. “You don’t like this?”

Ignis moaned on the edge of his breath. His cock was fully hard now, a erect ridge pressing against the bone of Ardyn’s hip, the bead of moisture that had gathered on the tip leaving a wet kiss on his flesh.

Abruptly Ardyn pulled away, taking Ignis by the arm and steering him towards the bed. He landed a swift, open-handed slap on his backside and said, “Go lay down. On your stomach. Face in the pillow. You’re going to want it to muffle all the noise you make.”

A shudder ran through him, but Ignis obeyed. He climbed into bed and stretched out on his stomach, his body rigid, arms tucked in close to his side and legs pressed together.

It wouldn’t do at all, Ardyn thought with a frown. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Ignis, who threw all his strength of will into forcing himself not to flinch and still did not quite manage it.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” Ardyn asked.

Ignis lifted his face out of the bedding and said breathlessly, “I don’t know. I thought you might. But I really don’t know…”

For all his terror and uncertainty, he was undeniably aroused. Ardyn wondered if this serious young man, for all his self-sufficiency and determination to do things on his own, might prefer being told what to do in bed. Perhaps he liked being helpless for once, since he could not afford to be in other aspects of his life.

Ardyn moved slowly around him, cautiously, testing out the secrets and quirks of this new body. Starting at Ignis’ ankle, he stroked his fingertip up the inside of his leg, past his knee and then along the inside of his thigh. Like a key turning slowly in a lock, he felt the tension flow out of Ignis’ body one degree at a time. He relaxed, and his legs parted minutely.

When Ardyn reached the juncture where Ignis’ thigh met his hip, he drew his hand back. Ignis shifted against the bedsheet, angling his hips back to follow Ardyn’s retreating touch. Before he could raise himself, Ardyn brought his hand down hard on the curve of his ass.

Ignis sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers knotting in the bedding.

“Like that?” Ardyn purred, admiring the pink mark that was beginning to appear on Ignis’s skin.

Ignis resettled himself on the bed, twisting his fists in the sheets. “I did… I do,” he admitted.

Ardyn began again, starting down near the opposite ankle and stroking his hand up the curves and swells of Ignis’ shapely leg. Again, he felt that minute relaxing of his taut and tense body, the parting of his thighs to allow Ardyn’s hand access to the cleft between them. When he reached the apex of his legs, he landed another slap, this time on the other cheek.

Ignis cried out, not a sound of protest by any means. With a shuddering sigh, he drew his knees up under him arching his back to give Ardyn better access.

Ardyn took a moment to admire the lovely lines of his body, the graceful shape of him. Ignis may not have been experienced, but he was a natural when it came to seduction. He could scarcely imagine that only two blushing schoolgirls and a handful of uncouth Hunters had been able to appreciate him over the years. Perhaps they had been the only ones bold enough to penetrate Ignis’ icy outer shell.

He was certainly seeing the other side of it now, Ardyn thought, not without a measure of pride. Drawing his hand back for a moment, he sucked on two fingers and then lowered them again, sliding them into the tight clutch of Ignis’ body.

Ignis gasped. His body seemed to tighten around Ardyn’s hand, drawing it deeper in. Ardyn could feel a knot inside him, and he probed it with his fingertips, making Ignis moan and arch back against him.

Ardyn worked him like that for a while, alternating between fingering him and then sliding his hand out so he could land sharp little slaps on his ass. He was fascinated by the way Ignis writhed beneath him, by all the little noises he tried to muffle against his hand.

“Are you hard?” Ardyn asked.

Ignis hesitated momentarily, then nodded.

“Show me.”

Another pause, and then Ignis pushed himself higher on his knees, allowing Ardyn to reach beneath his hips. He ran the backs of his fingers up Ignis’ shaft, feeling the throb of an erratic pulse against his skin.

“I don’t suppose you brought anything to ease this along, did you? Some oil, perhaps?”

This time, Ignis’ silence was different. At last, he propped himself up on his hands, shaking his hair back from his flushed face.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I never thought to… Will it hurt, then?”

For a moment, Ardyn strongly considered fucking him anyway. Taking him rough and dry, so that there would never be a chance that Ignis would enjoy it. He would never want to come back here after that, never again subject Ardyn to his misplaced and futile sympathy.

He ran his hand slowly up Ignis’ spine, and when he reached the back of his neck slid around to cup him under the jaw.

“No,” he said. “It needn’t hurt. Not this time. But I won’t let you off so easily again.”

Ignis seemed to understand. He moved with only the slightest guidance, shifting around so that his head was over Ardyn’s hips. He reached out with one hand, wrapped it around the thick shaft and stroking it from root to tip, tracing its impressive length. He parted his lips, and Ardyn eased him down so that he took the head into his mouth, licking around the glans.

Ardyn let out a controlled breath, making a great effort not to let his excitement show. He wasn’t sure if he quite managed it. With Ardyn’s steady hand on the back of his neck, establishing the pace, Ignis had begun to draw Ardyn’s cock deeper into the hot, wet grip of his throat.

The pace Ardyn established was fast, a little too fast to be comfortable, but Ignis kept up without falter or complaint. With his free hand, Ardyn’s stroked his back, down to his tailbone. He traced the red marks that crossed his backside. They stood out starkly, brightly against his pale skin.

“Keep going,” Ardyn purred. “Finish it, and then I’ll take care of you.”

Ignis’ breath caught in his throat, a soft moan that Ardyn felt vibrating up his cock and into the pit of his stomach. This was going to be the end of him, the death of the last vestiges of the creature he had once been. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that, but it was too late now.

“Ignis…” he ground out through clenched teeth. And then he came, filling Ignis’ mouth. 

Ignis kept his head down, taking it all in.

“Swallow it,” Ardyn said, but he didn’t have to. Ignis drank him down without hesitation. He didn’t move until Ardyn was finished, until the last of his shivers had subsided. Ardyn drew him up, guiding their mouths together. He could taste himself on Ignis’ lips, like earth and salt. An utterly human taste, so unlike the bitter black oil that had once tainted every system and cell of his body. 

The poison was gone. It was then, at that moment, with Ignis’ body stiff in his arms, his cock stiffer still as Ardyn wrapped his hand around it, that was forced to accept that the lucid nightmare he had brought upon himself really was over.

Ignis lasted less than a minute. He had been on the verge already, before Ardyn even touched him, and once he began to stroke him it was over very quickly. He moaned against Ardyn’s lips and went very still in his grip. Then Ardyn felt the unmistakable heat of Ignis’ release on his thigh.

Panting for breath, Ignis fell against his shoulder. Ardyn did not make a move to hold him, but he didn’t push him away, either. Ignis would realize soon enough what he had done.

It happened a moment later. Ignis sat bolt upright, fairly leaping backwards out of the bed. His heel caught on a blanket that they had kicked onto the floor in their enthusiasm, and he stooped to wrap it around himself.

Ardyn sighed. He was not enjoying watching Ignis flail in panic half so much as he had enjoyed watching him writhe in ecstasy a moment ago.

“Wait,” he said. “Stay.”

“I could not,” Ignis said. “It would not be proper. I’ve given you everything you asked for, returned you to the world of men. The rest is up to you.”

He turned as if to flee, but Ardyn called him back again.

“Leave if you like, but anyone who lays eyes on you will know what you have done. The truth is written all over your face.”

Ignis paused, lowering his eyes. “Why must you say such things? Why do you have to be cruel, after I--”

“I’m not being cruel,” Ardyn said, not a little frustrated by the assumption. He had been trying to be helpful, as a matter of fact. “I’m simply stating the truth that you cannot see.”

Ignis wavered on his feet, long enough for Ardyn to stand and take him by the shoulders.

“The guard changes tomorrow morning. Stay here until then, and then slip out when the new detail takes their posts. They will think you came early to speak with me, not that you spent the night. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Ignis said reluctantly. “I understand. That makes sense. Shall I sleep on the couch, then?”

“No,” Ardyn replied. “Here. There’s more than enough room.”

Ignis turned to face him. Ardyn had the distinct and unsettling feeling that his sightless eyes were looking right through him, seeing things that even Ardyn had not yet glimpsed in himself.

“I’ll behave,” he said shortly, knowing what Ignis was thinking and offended by the presumption. “Besides, there is very little I could do to you that I haven’t already done.”

Though it was far from reassuring, it was enough. Ignis’ knees unhinged and he all be collapsed back into bed. His breathing was fast, his pulse fast; Ardyn was painfully aware of both as he climbed into bed on the other side, far enough away that they did not touch.

He lay awake for a while, listening to Ignis burn through his excess of nerves, but he fell asleep long before the boy got to the end of them.


	9. Chapter 9

Ardyn had half-expected that Ignis would move closer to him in his sleep. Shifting, if not into his arms, then at least near enough to touch. It was not to be, though. Ignis did not so much as stir the whole night; he remained well over on his side of the bed, practically balanced on the edge.

So much for the truth they could not escape. Ignis’ subconscious had gotten the final word on the matter, maintaining a respectable distance even when all the defences put in place by his waking mind were lowered.

In fact, Ignis scarcely moved at all the whole night. Ardyn could not have asked for a better bedmate, until the moment when Ignis came suddenly and violently awake.

He cried out as he sat bolt upright in bed, a weak cry escaping him that half-nudged Ardyn out of sleep. The abrupt removal of the blankets did the rest; Ignis dragged them along with him as he jerked away.

Ardyn turned to face him, raising himself slightly on one arm and raking his hair back from his eyes with the opposite hand. Ignis was breathing hard, the blankets clutched to his throat so hard that his knuckles had gone stark white. His scarred eyes were wide open. He was not crying now, but his cheeks were damp with the tears he had shed in his sleep.

“Troubling dreams?” Ardyn said. 

Ignis flinched at the sound of his voice, his hands working in the edge of the blankets.

“About the scourge?” Ardyn went on, his voice still hoarse with sleep. “About your Long Night?”

“Yes,” Ignis whispered, so softly it was barely a sound at all.

Ardyn might have come up with any number of condescending dismissals that would let Ignis know just how little he cared for any of that and precisely what he thought about having to endure such an undignified display of emotion in his own bed. However, when he opened his mouth to speak, not a single one of them came out. 

Instead, he heard his own voice, quiet and reasonable, as it said, “There’s no need to get so worked up. It’s all in the past.”

He saw his own hand reach out, stroking Ignis’ wet cheek, making to brush his tears way.

Ignis did not even let him get close. At the first hint of warmth on his skin, he jerked his head violently away.

“Don’t tell me whether it is past or not,” he said harshly. “You, the architect of all our pain. Do not think I have forgotten all you did. You--”

His voice choked off, and he lowered his face to his hands. Ardyn scowled as he watched the pitiful farce. He certainly was seeing a lot of new sides to Ignis lately, but this was one of the least fun.

“Why?” Ignis whispered at last, his voice muffled by his palms. “Why have you done this to us?”

Ardyn felt a vertical crease appear between his brows as he contracted them, an undeniable scar of irritation that he was glad Ignis, for all his preternatural intuition, was not able to detect.

“Me?” he said. “You are so quick to invoke the will of the gods when it comes to your prince, or asking me to surrender my life for that matter. Why not the rest of it?”

“The gods did not force you to hurt as many as you did. Just as they cannot force you to give your life so that you might make up the smallest percentage of the injury you caused.”

“Did they force you to pleasure me last night?”

Ardyn did not know why he had said it, perhaps just to see how Ignis would react. He did not blush or squirm as he might have expected. In fact, he did not even get angry. When he spoke next, he sounded prim and polished, the undisputed master of his emotions. Just as he always had.

“As I told you, I chose that myself,” he said. “No one forced me.”

“Fine,” Ardyn replied. “But we’re both wide awake now, so why not choose it again.”

His hand came down on Ignis’ shoulder, and Ignis let it linger a beat too long before he reached up and brushed it away. “Oh, please. Is that really all you can think about?”

“What’s wrong?” Undeterred, perhaps more intrigued because of the rebuff than in spite of it, Ardyn tried again. His arm snaked around Ignis’ narrow waist, drawing him in close so Ardyn could press his lips against the long, delicate column of his throat. “Were you not satisfied?”

Ignis’ breath caught in his throat in the beginning of a moan. “I have to go. The changing of the guard, remember?”

“It’s still early,” Ardyn assured him. His teeth scraped over the juncture between neck and shoulder, and his hand traced a winding trail up Ignis’ chest from his waist. When it brushed past a nipple, Ardyn paused and then returned to work the tiny nub of flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

“My internal clock is accurate,” Ignis said. The words were a gasp. He leaned back, just a few degrees, until his shoulder blades came to rest against Ardyn’s chest. “We’ll have to be quick about it.”

Ardyn glanced at the large window that dominated one wall. The curtain had been drawn across it, but on one side it had pulled away a little from the frame. He could see a ribbon of darkness beyond, without so much as a suggestion that dawn was coming.

He came back to Ignis, mouth descending again on the side of his throat, nipping up to his ear where he fastened his teeth briefly around the lobe and then said, “It’s still dark. We have hours.”

No sooner were the words out than Ardyn felt a sharp little elbow in his ribs, driving him back. “Please, check the time,” Ignis said.

Ardyn’s eyes narrowed. He rubbed the sore spot on his side irritably. “If you didn’t want to--”

“The time!” Ignis snapped, his voice winding up tighter. “Ardyn, I beg you.”

Scowling, almost as offended at being ordered to act as he was annoyed at being ordered to stop, Ardyn cast about on the bedside table until he found the small gold clock. He held it up so he could see the numbers in the low light, and then he frowned.

“This says it’s nearly nine in the morning. It must be wrong.”

He had not even finished speaking before Ignis bolted out of bed. Ardyn felt a keep stab of disappointment when the heat of his body was withdrawn.

“I have to go,” Ignis said. In remarkable time, he found his discarded clothes and began to pull them on. He was still buttoning his shirt as he started for the door.

“Stay here,” he called back to Ardyn, who had not yet even thought to stir from the bed. “You’ll be safe inside the palace.”

Without waiting for an answer, he was gone.

Ardyn was left staring after him, bewildered and not a little disappointed. He rose slowly, and stretched leisurely, telling himself that he was not hurrying on account of Ignis’ bizarre display. At the window, he pulled back the curtain and looked out at the dark city beyond. It was a moonless night, and he could not see so much as a single star. The streets were unlit, with no way to know what was going on out there.

Nine in the morning, the clock had said. And yet it was an old clock in a disused wing of a crumbling castle. The time had been wrong, nothing more and nothing less.

And yet the way Ignis had rushed out did not speak to a fear of being caught with his pants down, so to speak. It had hinted at a deeper urgency, bordering on panic.

Pausing long enough to get dressed, Ardyn went to the door to his cell. He pressed his ear against the wood and held his breath, listening. There was no sound from without, no chatter or pacing from the guards.

On a whim, he tried the handle; it turned in his grip and the door swung open. 

Ignis had not locked it behind him on the way out, an act of neglect that it was all but impossible to imagine him committing.

The hallway outside Ardyn’s room was empty. A couple of chairs and a low table had been fashioned into a makeshift guardpost, which looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry. A book had been thrown down quickly into one of the seats, and there was a half-finished cup of tea on the table. One of the soldiers had left his coat behind, but neither of them had forgotten their weapons.

Ardyn was not one to be left out of something important. Finding the hallway deserted, he made for the palace keep. He would run into someone eventually. There might be cause for explanation when he did, but at least then he would not be so infuriatingly out of the loop.

All those interminable years spent alone in this place allowed Ardyn to find his way easily. How unfair that he was no longer able to remember what it had felt like, to be drunk on that dark power, a potent anesthetic against, not just a moment’s injury, but all of pain’s long history. It was only mundane things - the path through the intersecting corridors to the elevator - that he could recall with any clarity.

He met no one on the way. That Gladio’s cautious and impeccably-drilled guard would be absent first surprise, then excited, then quickly began to worry him.

As he took the elevator to the ground floor, the car shuddered and groaned on its track, and the lights flickered overhead. At first, Ardyn assumed it was only another symptom of the building’s age and disrepair.

Until he began to feel it. A pulse of pressure behind his eyes, a churning in the pit of his stomach as if he had swallowed a serpent whole. When the door opened on the ground floor, a freezing wind rushed in. The already dim light darkened further, so that he could scarcely even see the cloud of frozen breath billowing before his face with each exhalation.

From far off, he could hear the shouts of battle. Though he wasn’t armed and he was no longer sure his vulnerable body would remember what to do if even if he was, Ardyn started towards the fighting. He didn’t know what he would do once he got there, but he was certain Ignis would be in the thick of it. In the heat of the moment, it seemed as good a reason as any to go and see.

When he was partway across the Grand Hall, another sound broke through the human cries. It began as a deep moan that vibrated low in body, before rapidly rising in a metallic screech.

It was the bellow of a demon. Once, it would have been both welcome and familiar, but now it set Ardyn to trembling. They would no longer know him as one of them, a fellow creature of the darkness. He was as susceptible to those foul creatures as any other human.

Clenching his hands into fists to hide - even from himself - that they were shaking, he broke into a run. After spending the past few days since his abrupt awakening locked up in various gilded cells, it felt good to stretch his legs, to know that his body was still under his control.

The sensation was short lived. Ardyn burst through the front gate of the palace and into the Platea Basilium. It was pitch black out, the dark midnight of a starless night. 

He could make out shadows moving in the Platea beyond the steps leading up to the palace, human and demon forms alike. 

The Crownsguard had deployed in force, and so far they had managed to hold the line. Some of the demons had advanced almost as far as the main gate, though. When Ardyn looked down, he saw one laying at his feet. It was the size of a large dog, plated with exoskeletal armor.

It was quite dead, the blade that had killed it still protruding from between two of the bony plates. Ardyn planted one foot on the demon’s carcass, seizing the hilt of the sword in one hand and pulling it free.

He weighted the blade, getting a feel for it. Though he had not yet made up his mind what he was going to do, whatever he decided he certainly wasn’t going to do it unarmed.

However, before he could make another move, he heard it again: that terrible, unearthly roar that shook his very bones. It was closer now, seeming to press in on him from all sides. 

A moment later, Ardyn saw the source.

The big demon came charging out of the darkness. It had a bullet-shaped body the size of a car, balanced atop six long, spindly, spiderlike legs. As it bolted across the Platea, an unlucky soldier moved to intercept it. The creature sent him flying with a flick of its bladed tail.

At first, it seemed that, in its blind rage, the creature would pass Ardyn by without paying him any mind, but then it dug its clawed feet in so hard that they sent up showers of sparks from the paving stones. Its tiny head swiveled around, the mangled flesh around its deformed face twitching and quivering as it scented the air.

It turned on him in an instant. Ardyn had less than a second to react before the demon sprang at him.

He leapt back, dodging the first strike from one of the creature’s claws. A crossbow bolt clattering against the demon’s armored hide. It bellowed but shook off the attack and did not not turn. The full of its malevolent attention remained focused on Ardyn, as it struck at him again.

Somewhere down deep in its simple reptilian brain, the demon had recognized him. Even a monster like this knew a traitor when it saw one.

Ardyn parried its claws when they came down, but his back was all but up against the exterior wall of the palace and he was quickly running out of ground to retreat. He glanced briefly over his shoulder, trying to plot an escape route, and when he looked back he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. 

A dark shape coalesced out of the shadows, moving so swiftly that Ardyn almost couldn’t track it. There was a flash of light as it called a glaive to hand, a long spear with a curving scimitar tip. In the faint glow coming off the weapon, Ardyn could make out Ignis’ face, but his mind stubbornly refused to make sense of why he was seeing it now. How it could be that Ignis, of all the men he had encountered in his long life, would be here now, darting in low beneath the demon’s body, dodging amongst its churning legs, so he could thrust the tip of his spear up into its midsection.

A torrent of black gore showered down on them. The demon wheeled back, and though Ignis managed to twist out from under its feet, he did not see the thrashing tail as it descended on him. The barb on the end caught Ignis in the shoulder, piercing through and carrying him back until he struck the wall.

Ardyn heard him cry out, but just once. The sound was cut short as Ignis’ body slammed into the wall, driving the wind out of him. Ardyn moved without conscious thought, propelled forward by the old muscle memory drilled into him by his instructors long ago. He had not thought back then that it would ever be of much use, and he had resented how it had intruded on the greatness for which he had been destined.

His body had not forgotten the lessons, though. He slashed downward with his stolen sword, cleaving cleanly through the demon’s tail. The creature reeled back, screeching, and Ignis slid down the wall, barely conscious, the blade from the demon’s tail still protruding from his shoulder.

Ardyn followed him down, sinking to the pavement at Ignis’ side. Before he could reach out to him, a steely grip closed around the back of his collar, jerking him away roughly.

“Get away from him!” Gladio’s voice barked. He shoved Ardyn aside and collapsed to his knees next to Ignis. Prompto was right behind him, already preparing a healing incantation as Gladio raised their friend in his arms.

Ardyn sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall. His hands were shaking with spent adrenaline, and if one of the demons mounted another attack now he wasn’t sure how much he would be able to do. Fortunately, the sounds of battle seemed to be lessening now; the Crownsguard must have turned the tide. There was a faint line of light on the horizon that seemed to indicate the coming of dawn.

Even Ignis was in good hands. Gladio and Prompto would heal him, and he would never have to know about Ardyn’s gesture towards heroism. He didn’t understand it himself, why he had bothered getting involved.

Prompto was still fumbling with the healing incantation. Ardyn glanced over just as he started the process again. Beyond the bulk of Gladio’s broad back, he could see that Prompto was struggling, both hands pressed down hard on Ignis’ shoulder, putting pressure on the wound.

Concerned, Ardyn edged closer. He had gotten enough of a sense of the injury to know that it was deep but clean. Precisely the kind of wound that any reasonably competent caster should have been able to patch easily and with little in the way of complications.

But when he caught a glimpse of Ignis’ face, it was pale and beads of cold sweat stood out on his brow. He was insensate, though he occasionally twitched and jerked as if he were being stung or shocked.

Then Ardyn saw it, the source of the trouble. All around the wound in Ignis’ shoulder, a black mist had collected. Radiating out from the gash - down Ignis’ arm and up the side of his throat - were veins of inky purple, pulsing opaque beneath his skin.

It was an infection of the worst kind. When the demon had stung him, it had time to inject some of its black essence into Ignis’ body. Ardyn had seen it before - a hundred times, perhaps a thousand. The darkness would quickly spread through his body, tainting every cell.

Ignis would be counted lucky if he died before it happened.

“It’s not working,” Prompto said, frustrated. “He needs a proper healer.”

“Send a runner to the temple,” Gladio told one of his guard who had come to his aid. “Get one of the priests over here now.”

“They won’t come. Not with these creatures in the streets.”

Gladio pushed to his feet. “I didn’t tell you to ask them. I told you to bring them, by whatever means. We’re not losing him, not like this.”

“It won’t matter.” Ardyn heard his own voice, and it seemed loud to his ears. He spoke before he could think better of it, before he could remember how, a moment ago, he had deeply regretted making himself a part of this. “No priest will come in time. Kill him quickly. It would be a mercy.”

“As for you…” Gladio rounded on him in a display of righteous fury. In the growing light of the coming day, Ardyn could see the expression on his face very clearly and he did not like it. “I don’t know how you got out here, but I know what you did. Play innocent all you like, but I know this is your fault. You called these creatures here.”

“Believe it or not,” Ardyn said, refusing to look away from Gladio’s blazing stare. “I was trying to help.”

It had been too much. Ardyn might have admitted to any number of cruel and vicious crimes, taken the blame for all the sins of the world, and it would not have made Gladio as angry as the truth had. 

He sprang forward, seizing Ardyn around the throat and jerking him to his feet. Ignoring Prompto’s pleas for calm, for reason, he lifted Ardyn’s feet off the ground as if he weighed no more than a stuffed doll. Then he tightened his grip, cutting off his air.

Ardyn’s eyes widened in surprise. Once again, he was subject to an unpleasant and undignified shock as he realized that he could not breathe and that his body was quickly starting to react in a panic. His hands flew to Gladio’s wrist but he could not get free of his iron grip. A deeper darkness than even the impossible night began to eat at the edges of his vision, threatening to consume all.

“Stop it!” Prompto cried out. “Leave him alone and come help me.”

Gladio hesitated a second, then abruptly released his hold. Ardyn got his feet under him, but his legs refused to hold him. They folded under him, dropping him to his knees. One hand went to his throat, gently probing the ring of bruises that were beginning to form around it.

Ignis was making soft choking sounds as the poison worked its way into his lungs. Gladio had taken him by the arms and was holding him still, as his body kept trying to sit up on its own, hijacked like a parasitic host by the dark poison inside.

Ardyn looked away, and it was at that moment that the morning sun at last crested the horizon.

The first rays struck his cheek, and he felt them all through him. The light seemed to penetrate him, a surge of power that expanded inside him in an instant, as if his body was a long-depleted reservoir suddenly filled to capacity. 

He knew what he had to do. Just as his body had remembered how to wield a blade, something within him, something still a part of and yet separate from his self, remembered how to do this. 

“Give him to me,” he said, though he supposed it was the glance he shot Prompto more than the words themselves that convinced him to retreat. 

Ardyn drew Ignis’ body to him, and as they touched it seemed that the world narrowed around them, creating a barrier containing only the two of them. He laid his hand over the wound in Ignis’ shoulder, barely feeling the pulse of hot blood oozing from between his fingers. The light of the rising sun washed over him, weaving around him like gossamer threads. The black poison that had begun to disseminate into Ignis’ body reversed course, flowing back out of the wound.

Ignis sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. His eyes fluttered open and then his expression twitched in confusion. One hand lifted, weakly, to settle over Ardyn’s were it was pressed to his chest. When he felt it there, it seemed to comfort him.

“It’s all right,” Ardyn assured him. Though he recognized his own voice, it seemed not to come from his throat. “Give it to me.”

Ignis relaxed in his arms, letting the darkness flow out of him. Ardyn took it into his own body. It burned as it entered his veins but the sensation soon abated. The beds of his nails showed black briefly, before fading back to their normal shade.

With the darkness purged, Ignis began to breathe more easily almost at once.

Ardyn could still feel something different inside him, like a small hard knot lodged in his chest. It was all that was left of the scourge, and it did not seem to have an ill effect on him at all. He wondered if it was stay there indefinitely.

Something cautioned him against pursuing that line of thought. There was a memory there, an ancient one that he had not thought about in a long time. Perhaps a regret that he had expended a great deal of energy in making himself forget. It would not do any good now, digging through the wreck and ruin of the past for something to make sense of the present.

With the coming of the sun, the last of the demons had fled. The Crownsguard had regrouped and were rallying around them now. Leaving Ignis in Prompto’s care, Ardyn got slowly to his feet, keeping his hands in plain view.

Gladio rose at once to follow him.

“I’ll go quietly,” Ardyn said. “There’s no need to get rough.”

He had not managed to convince him, it seemed. Gladio’s hand was plenty rough when it clamped down on Ardyn’s shoulder.

“I want to know what you did,” Gladio growled.

“It’s fine, my friend.” Ignis’ voice was weak but steady. He had managed to sit up, with Prompto’s help. Though the arm on his injured side still hung limp and useless, he had lifted the other to massage his sore shoulder.

“I’m well, as you can see,” he went on. “He healed me.”

Ardyn did not much care for the way those words sounded when applied to him, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Gladio shoved him abruptly aside, into the care of his waiting guards. They unceremoniously marched Ardyn back inside, so swiftly he did not have so much as a moment to look back at Ignis.


	10. Chapter 10

When the healer finally arrived from the temple, she lingered over Ignis’ wounds for a long time. He endured the poking and prodding patiently, though he knew already she would find little cause for concern. 

The events of the most recent Anomaly were still muddled in his head. He remembered taking up arms and joining the skirmish in the streets. A year of relative peace had not slowed him down much; battle was still as familiar and natural as breathing to him. He had fought with a grim, single-minded determination, oblivious to all but the next beast to be slain.

But then Ardyn’s voice had reached him in the darkness.

Ignis was certain that he must have been thinking of the sacrifice, of the pact Ardyn had yet to make, when he had rushed without caution or forethought to the man’s defense. If he had been reckless, it was only because he knew that Ardyn must be kept alive a little longer, no matter the cost.

It was there that the details became unclear. The wound that had been inflicted and then promptly healed had left a fog over his memories. He could recall the demon striking him, a sharp and sudden agony in his shoulder that lit up the darkness shrouding his sight with red sparks. 

Then only a riot of pain, fear, rage. An explosion of negative emotions, ripped from deep within, as if every agony he had ever experienced were bubbling up from some hidden spring, threatening to make him live it all again: the despair of his lost family, his lost sight, his lost king, the youth and innocence he had lost to the Long Night.

The next thing he could remember with any certainty was waking to feel Ardyn’s hand on his chest. It had felt unnaturally warm against his skin, but the longer it remained the more his head had cleared. The darkness had retreated, all those toxic thoughts left him; not driven back into the depths where they could wait to surface in his next moment of weakness or indecision, but drawn out completely.

Ardyn had healed him, somehow, and he had done it by taking the injury onto himself.

Ignis could not believe it, and yet the facts remained. He ought to leave it alone, retreat back into the role of regent where only logic and reason and the utilitarian keeping of the peace mattered. Whatever Ardyn’s had done for him personally, it paled in comparison to what he must do, for the good of them all.

All of this he knew, and yet as soon as he had word that Gladio and Prompto had gone to survey the damage in the city, Ignis called a page to escort him to Ardyn’s cell.

He didn’t like creeping around in secret, going behind his friends’ backs, and yet this was the way it had to be. He could not begin to explain to them yet.

At the end of the hall, he dismissed the page. It was beginning to feel familiar, standing in front of this door with no idea what to expect when he opened it. But unlike the last time, he harbored no fear or anxiety. In fact, he was looking forward to hearing Ardyn’s voice again, especially if it was to give him an explanation.

Stepping inside, he called out, “My lord? I’m coming in.”

“Not who I expected to see,” Ardyn’s voice came back to him. “But a more welcome sight than most.”

Ignis heard the man move towards him. His usual soft whispering steps were muddied, dragging.

“Are you well?” Ignis said with a frown.”You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“It’s nothing,” Ardyn replied, but he dropped down onto the divan, embarrassed that Ignis had found him out. “Just a few bruises, courtesy of Gladio’s men. They’re not pleased with me.”

“They can’t treat you like this,” Ignis said. “You’re a guest in the palace--”

“Stop it.” Ardyn waved him off. “They blame me for what happened, and no amount of hand-wringing from you can change that. In fact, they probably aren’t far off. I didn’t call those demons here, but I didn’t do the one thing that might have prevented their coming.”

Ignis knew that he meant the ritual of sacrifice. If the laws and logic of the universe still applied to them, then once Ardyn accepted his purpose the darkness would be banished once more.

It was clear that he should have taken the opportunity to press Ardyn again, but instead Ignis just shook his head. “Don’t, please. I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“Then why are you here?” 

The moment Ardyn asked the question, Ignis realized that he did not have a proper answer. Before he could even begin to formulate one, Ardyn sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, his accusations replaced with weary resigned concern. 

“Are you even all right?” he said. “Should you be on your feet?”

“I’m fine,” Ignis told him. “Though you should know that. You were the one that saved me.”

“You’re misremembering,” Ardyn said quietly, a denial that was far from convincing. “You were unconscious.”

“I remember well enough.” Ignis came forward all at once, taking a seat next to Ardyn, who did not stir to look at him, not even when Ignis reached out and took his hand. “Tell me what you did.”

A shudder ran through Ardyn’s body, one he did not even try to hide. “I don’t know, not exactly. It was an old magic, the kind the sages wielded when I was young. But I don’t remember much from the past, and that is the truth.”

“This was not some ancient sage reciting syllables from a dusty tome. It was you, Ardyn, and the power you called upon was very real.”

Ardyn abruptly extracted his hand from Ignis’ grip. “Like I said, I don’t remember anything.”

“You’re lying,” Ignis replied, strangely calm. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I’d like to know more about you,” Ignis said. “Is that so strange?”

“It’s completely bizarre.”

Ignis sighed, reaching again for Ardyn’s hand. Reluctantly, he let him take it. Ignis enfolded it in both of his own, exploring Ardyn’s palm with his fingertips. The skin there was smooth, uncallused by battle, but it was not soft as a man of leisure’s would have been. Ignis knew that this was not a recent development. Ardyn’s hands were frozen in time, unchanged from the way they had been a thousand years ago when he had began the journey to becoming the creature he once was and now was not.

But Ignis could not imagine what story was written in the lines of Ardyn’s hands, nor in his still-handsome face, nor even in his body, despite the fact that he had gotten to know it well the night before. Whatever secrets from the past Ardyn was concealing, they would die with him all over again if he didn’t unburden himself of them.

“Tell me,” Ignis coaxed. “Maybe you’ll feel better.”

“The only way I could possibly feel is like a sentimental idiot,” Ardyn snorted. “Pining after the past like a child who refuses to grow up.”

Ignis did not respond. He had learned better than that by now. Ardyn first had to erect a fortress of verbal defenses, protection for the vulnerable seed of humanity that he nurtured within him. Only when he was sure it was sheltered from the inevitable human cruelties that would follow did he feel safe to speak.

“Maybe I’ve begun to remember a few things. Or maybe not. I honestly can’t say if they are really my memories…”

“If you tell me, we can sort through them together,” Ignis said patiently.

“There’s not much to tell. You’ll be sorely disappointed. I think, though, that it began with a different sort of scourge. Not one that brought darkness upon the land, but a dire threat all the same. This plague was one of demons that infected the body and mind, twisting people’s souls, turning them against one another.”

Ignis did not dare speak, afraid of breaking the spell that had fallen over them. Ardyn’s voice was low, steady. Its familiar velvety tones speaking now out of the distant past. Taking great care to remain silent and unobtrusive, Ignis shifted his grip on Ardyn’s hand so that he was holding it tightly.

“But a great healer appeared,” Ardyn went on. “One with dominion over the demons. He could draw them out and take them into his own body. They did not harm him, it seemed. Perhaps even then there was something in his nature that called to the darkness. And the darkness called back to it.”

Ignis had turned in his seat and was staring at the spot Ardyn’s profile must have occupied. He reached out with his free hand and brushed a lock of red hair away from Ardyn’s face.

Ardyn took a sudden, sharp breath. Ignis could almost see his brow contract in confusion, as he was drawn abruptly out of the past and back into the present. He took a moment to orient himself before saying quietly, “I’m speaking of myself, of course.”

“The magic was lost to you,” Ignis said. “But now it has returned. That’s what happened in the Platea.”

Again, a scowl of intense concentration appeared on Ardyn’s face. Ignis could hear it in his voice.

“Yes,” Ardyn said. “That must be it. Back then, I was called to sacrifice everything - my very soul and self - for my people. It’s fitting, then, that I would remember now when the gods have demanded I give up everything again.”

“You did the right thing,” Ignis told him. “It proves that you were a good man, once. And I am sure that something of that goodness remains.”

All at once, Ardyn extracted his hand from Ignis’s hold. “I didn’t tell you so you could attempt to manipulate me into killing myself.”

“You know full well that’s not what I’m trying to do,” Ignis said patiently, as if speaking to an imaginative boy. “I’m trying to help you, which is all that I have been doing since the moment you arrived back in our lives.”

“So you have,” Ardyn replied, in a tone of weary resignation that indicated his was not as pleased by that as Ignis had hoped. After a moment’s thought, he went on. “There’s still much I don’t recall. That is true. But I do know there was a woman…”

“If it’s someone you remember, then she must have been important to you. Was it a sister, perhaps?”

Ardyn shook his head. “Not a sister. But you sounded so hopeful just then. Are you going to be jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ignis felt himself blush. “What reason would I have to be jealous?”

“No reason,” Ardyn said, but Ignis could tell that his manner had changed. Where once there had been cool suspicion in his voice, now there was easy fondness. Ignis could not imagine what he had done to charm Ardyn so, but he was relieved when he felt the man relax beside him.

“It was the eve of the Winter Solstice,” Ardyn went on. “That was when I first met her…”

***

The braziers had been left burning on a covered veranda outside the temple. The porticos and railings were strewn with winter primrose and violets, the few flowers that bloomed in spite of the snow on the ground. The marble floor was strewn with fine carpets, and a collection of delicate paper lanterns swayed in the naked branches of the trees.

It was comfortable, elegant, designed with the utmost care; and yet it was still unmistakably separate from the temple proper.

From within the walls, Ardyn could hear music, chanting. They would be well into the solstice ritual now, and his brother was no doubt performing his part admirably. 

Until a few weeks ago, Arydn himself had been slated to perform the ceremony. Of the two noble brothers who currently occupied the royal house, he was doubtlessly the more spiritual, the more in tune with the will and ways of the gods. It had suited Ardyn just fine. Lucius may have been the secular king of the land, but Ardyn was the leader in religious matters. Between the two of them, they kept the powers of crown and temple united under a single banner.

But then there had been talk. Whispers at first, the murmurs of concerned busybodies who occupied themselves with seeding trouble and watching it take root.

Ardyn had spent too long in the plague wards and asylums. He had been too much among the people afflicted by the dark powers that worked among them. Was it not true, the story went, that those unfortunate souls were impure? Tainted by their contact with the demons. It was not their fault, of course. Save when it was. For how else might the sickness strike one house and pass over another if some were not asking for it? They were weak in will, unclean in spirit. They brought it upon themselves.

By then, it was not just the occasional gossiper who was talking. The rumors had reached the point where they were regarded as fact, even by some in the temple.

Lucius had been forced to step in then and make some official statement. To his credit, he had been very eloquent and almost entirely sincere in his defense of Ardyn. They would continue to work towards finding a cure for the plague, and in the meantime Ardyn would keep up his excellent work as healer and sage.

However, the temple was sacred ground. Purification rituals in order to enter were long and arduous, and the thought that Ardyn might carry the taint of the scourge with him to the very inner sanctum and altar was unthinkable.

That was how it had come to pass. Lucius was within now, doubtlessly poised and perfect in the role of priest-king. He had not had much time to prepare, but he usually came through when it mattered. Even Ardyn had to admit that, though he could only imagine how his brother must look. His gaze had been deemed too profane; he was not even allowed to watch the ceremony.

At least there was no shortage of wine. It had been brought from the sacred vineyards for use as libations in the ceremony, but Ardyn had managed to secure some for his personal devotions. He had already drunk his way through several goblets and the droning of the priests within showed no sign of quieting any time soon.

He had never noticed how much these things dragged on when he had participated in them.

All at once, there was movement along the wall of the temple. A hidden panel built into the stone slid back and a figure dressed in flowing blue robes and crowned with a headpiece made of red coral slipped out into the cold night.

She was so caught up in making sure that the door closed quietly behind her, that she did not notice Ardyn at first. He had a moment to take the measure of her: She was flushed and sweating in the cold night, even though her robes were gossamer thin and her feet bare. Strands of long dark hair were plastered to her neck with moisture. Her wrists and ankles were painted in dark blue henna, the pattern suggesting ocean waves.

“You must be one of Leviathan’s temple dancers,” Ardyn said. 

The girl turned sharply, startled by his voice but not afraid. When she saw Ardyn watching her, she did not move at all for a long moment. Her gaze travelled boldly over him, taking in everything, before she at last dropped her eyes in an appropriately deferential bow.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t know you were out here.”

“Are you sorry for being away from your post? Or only sorry for being caught?”

The dancer straightened up, though she kept her eyes lowered out of respect. It seemed to take great effort for her to do so; she wanted nothing more than to return that bold and searching gaze back to the world.

“It’s so hot in there,” she said. “With all the candles and the great pyre of Ifrit. I just wanted some fresh air.”

“Then come over here to breathe it,” Ardyn told her. “You’ll catch your death standing on the bare stone.”

The dancer looked up at last. Her eyes settled on Ardyn’s face, seeming once more to take him at a glance. Then she darted forward, onto the rugs that carpeted Ardyn’s veranda. The glow from the coals in the brazier turned her gossamer robes translucent, revealing the curves of her shapely arm and leg.

Ardyn had only a moment to appreciate the view before the dancer noticed him looking. She snatched up a silk blanket from one of the benches and wrapped herself in it.

“Leviathan is very protective of her virgin priestesses,” she said. “May they remain as unfathomable and as inhospitable to men as the depths of the sea itself.”

“May your patron send storms to dash the unwary upon deadly reefs and rocks and shoals,” Ardyn said as he poured a finger of wine in the bottom of a glass. He filled the rest with water and held it out to the dancer. “What’s your name?”

She did not hesitate before coming forward to take the cup from him. “Eudoxia.”

“I’m--” he started to reply, but she cut him off.

“Lord Ardyn, the great sage. Of course I know you. We met once before, though perhaps you don’t remember.”

“I don’t see how I could forget a face like yours.”

He had expected Eudoxia to blush, stammer, go through all the simpering motions of a sheltered girl unaccustomed to being flirted with. Instead, she only smiled a small, close-lipped smile and sipped her wine.

“It was some years ago. My parents were afflicted with the plague. They were among the first, before anyone even knew what it was. By the time anyone realized what was wrong with them, they were quite far gone. They’d begun to transform into beasts. But then one day you arrived, and with a touch of your hand you set all to right. I suppose it meant very little to you. There were so many who still needed saving. But to me, my lord, it was everything.”

Ardyn found himself scrutinizing Eudoxia’s face very closely, but there was no hint of the familiar to be found there. Five years had gone by since he had begun the work of healing the afflicted, and in that time there might have been a hundred girls like this one, a thousand. Still, it did not seem right to him that he could have had such a profound effect on her life without her making any impact on his at all.

“It must have been hard for you,” he said. “Watching it happen.”

Eudoxia was quiet for a long moment, searching his expression as if unsure of what answer he wanted. At last, she signed and settled on the truth.

“It was awful. The plague worked on their minds first. My mother and father had always been distant, but never cruel. I couldn’t understand why they suddenly took such pleasure in saying all those terrible things to me. Afterwards, I understood. When a demon makes its way into a host it sows discord in any way it can. Still, even after the scourge was gone, I couldn’t forget. I couldn’t forgive them, though I knew what they had been through. That’s why I came here, and presented myself to the temple. It’s as good a place as any to get away.”

“Would that I could have come sooner,” Ardyn said.

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Eudoxia replied. “I won’t have you acting like some tragic figure when you’ve already done so much. My feelings towards what happened back then are mine, and I don’t need anyone to feel them for me.”

Though Eudoxia’s tone was kind, and her smile still genuine, Ardyn felt much chastised by what she had said. When he did not answer right away, the dancer sprang to her feet.

“I’ve spoken too much. I’m sorry. I’ll go back in now; I feel much better.”

She flung off the silk blanket, and turned to dart back inside. The sight of her turned back stung him, and Ardyn called out to her.

“Wait, there’s no rush. If you’re cold, come over here, closer to the fire.”

At first he thought that she meant to act as if she had not heard, to disappear back into the temple, out of his reach forever. But then she looked back over her shoulder. Hesitantly, she came back, lifting the headpiece of coral from her brow and setting it aside as she circled the brazier to sit at Ardyn’s side.

She was close enough to him now that he thought she might mean it as an invitation. There was a nervous flutter in his breast that he could not ignore as he reached out and put an arm around her shoulders.

“Will this offend the goddess?” he asked, drawing her closer, into the warm folds of his winter cloak.

“I don’t think she minds much when it’s me,” Eudoxia said. “I’ve not been a perfect devotee. My mind has wandered; my thoughts have not been pure. This year I’ll be twenty-three, which is very old for a temple dancer. I can either take the vow of a high priestess, or I can leave the temple. I think I know which I will choose.”

“Where will you go?” Ardyn said.

“Back home,” Eudoxia replied. “All those old wounds lie dormant now. My parents and I can be civil again. My father will arrange a marriage, I suppose. Life will go on as if the scourge never visited us.”

“Is that what you want?”

Eudoxia laughed. Ardyn knew that it was directed at him, but in the same instant she rested her head affectionately on his shoulder.

“Somehow I knew that you would ask something like that,” she said. “The great sage, brother of the king. Of course you imagine life in terms of what you want and how you can go about getting it. But let me tell you, for a girl with few means it isn’t like that. I can’t think in terms of what I want, only in terms of what is available to me. The temple, or a marriage, or else disgrace.”

“And if I could offer you another option? Come back to the palace with me.”

Eudoxia did not even pause to consider the offer before she laughed again, harder than before. Ardyn liked the sound of it, even though he knew he was the sole source of her amusement.

“That counts as disgrace,” she said. “Or do you not think we all know your reputation? The great healer who comes in from his long pilgrimages and goes straight to the brothel and the drinking den.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Ardyn replied. “My reasons for doing that are my own.”

He turned so he could ease Eudoxia back and look her in the face. She met his eyes with that same forthright, unblinking gaze. His proposition had not disturbed her in the slightest, and she was not afraid of what he might do now. She really was only taking care of herself, then.

“You left your home, and now you are leaving the temple,” he told her. “All this time, you have been looking for a place to belong. And I will tell you, since I have been given this gift from the gods, I scarcely belong in home or temple either. If we are both destined to be outcasts, why not together?”

Eudoxia reached up, untucking a few strands of Ardyn’s hair from beneath the royal diadem. She twined them around her fingers as, smiling, she said, “You’ll take what you want and then forsake me when you grow tired of me.”

“I can’t promise we won’t get tired of each other, but I won’t forsake you. You’re capable and clever, and if you’ll allow it I will see that those things take you far.”

“You’re very persuasive, you know.” Her tone was light, even playful, though Ardyn had been trying to convey how seriously he took this. Eudoxia only laughed at him, and said, “If I go back inside right now, how angry will you be? Even if I would be saving you from yourself and your own rash decisions.”

“I wouldn’t be angry,” Ardyn replied. “Only disappointed. But I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

“It’s very cold out there. I don’t feel like getting out from under this cloak.” 

“So stay,” Ardyn said. “Tonight, and as many nights after as you like. You think I’m being impulsive, and maybe I am. But I feel that we are connected somehow. I feel that we know each other.”

For the first time, her smile faded. She was serious, even grave, when she told him, “I feel it too. It’s strange, almost frightening. So come here quickly, before I lose my nerve.”

Before Ardyn could react, she had raised herself on her knees and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

He felt her strong hand fitted around the back of his neck, soft lips against his, her quick little tongue as it darted past his teeth. But all of these were secondary to the tug he felt deep in his breast, as if something buried within him were yearning towards something within her. 

One of her hands was pressed against his chest, and he felt the sting of her nails digging into his skin, as if she had no other outlet for the emotion coursing through her. With a moan, she pulled away, breaking the kiss.

Ardyn’s head felt light and for a moment his vision swam so that her face blurred as if seen through wet glass.

A film of black ashes had gathered on Eudoxia’s lips. Dancing around the tips of her fingers where she had driven them into his flesh was a fuzz of black mist. Ardyn had seen such things before, when he tended to the afflicted. These were the signs of demonic possession, though they had not been drawn out of a sick body, but rather out of him. Eudoxia had plucked them from the great menagerie of demons that Ardyn himself kept caged inside. She had, without meaning to or even trying, taking a small measure of the darkness that burdened him into herself.

She sucked in a deep gulp of air, as if she had forgotten to breath. The ashes around her mouth were drawn inside and the smoke around her fingers retreated beneath the nailbeds, absorbed inside her body. When she felt it enter her, she began to weep.

Ardyn sat very still for a moment, forgetting even to comfort her.

“It’s not because of you,” she said at last, wiping her eyes. The storm of tears had come on suddenly and vanished just as quickly. When she looked up at him next, she was smiling again, and in her dry eyes was the same knowing, self-possessed look as before. Bewildered, Ardyn looked down into her face, unlined and unscarred by exposure to the darkness.

“Can we go?” she asked softly. “Do you have to wait for the end of the ceremony? Can’t we get out of here now?”

***

When Ardyn paused in the telling, Ignis sat in thoughtful silence for a long moment. He knew that there was more, something the man was yet holding back. Perhaps he really didn’t remember, or perhaps he wasn’t ready to admit that he remembered yet. Regardless, it didn’t seem like he was going to give up any more of the story just now.

“A girl with the power of the great sages,” Ignis said at last. “The same magic as you.”

“She was my acolyte,” Ardyn said.

“I thought she was your lover.”

“She was that, too,” Ardyn said. “From the first night I met her and on many nights after. I had many lovers in those days, but I’d never met a single other person who had been gifted and burdened by the gods in precisely the same way as I had.”

“What happened to her?”

“I don’t know,” Ardyn said instantly. “I don’t remember.”

Ignis suspected that it was less that Ardyn was unable to remember and more that he was desperately trying not to.

“It was a long time ago,” he said diplomatically.

“And it passed no quicker for me than it did for you.”

Ignis felt gripped by a strange tenderness towards this mysterious ancient creature. He moved to lift Ardyn’s hand to his mouth so he could kiss it, but halfway there he stopped. He dropped Ardyn’s hand, thrusting it away from him as he slid over to the opposite side of the divan. 

A moment later, the door to the cell swung open and Gladio’s commanding presence filled the room. 

“Thought I’d find you here, Ignis,” he said. “I’m sure you think you know what you’re doing, but I’ll take it from here.”


	11. Chapter 11

When he had been a boy, Ignis had often found himself caught up in some bit of childish mischief, almost all of it instigated by Noctis. Ignis rarely wanted to go along with the prince’s schemes, doing so only out of a sense of duty, and generally spending the entire adventure writhing with the excruciating dread of being caught, the overwhelming fear that he would face the horror of adult disapproval.

It was the same sick feeling that washed over him now, as Gladio strode into the room, casting a curious eye over the surroundings. He was flanked on either side by members of the Crownsguard, and with a gesture from his hand he deployed them.

“Secure the prisoner.”

The words were at last enough to shock Ignis into action. He was no longer that boy who had lived in terror of disappointing others; he had to act.

Bolting to his feet, he moved between Ardyn and the advancing guards. “Stand down. I want to know what this is about.”

“I’m taking care of an unruly captive,” Gladio replied. “He already tried to escape once, and I don’t trust him here anymore. It’s my job, and you must still respect the office even if you have lost your esteem for me.”

Ignis shook his head. “You’re being ridiculous. There’s no one I respect more. The chancellor left his rooms, but he did it to help me. No one was hurt.”

“Twenty are dead, with another five sure to join them before the day is out. Countless are hurt, everyone who was affected by those beasts at our very gates.”

“It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t call the demons here.”

“You don’t know that,” Gladio said. “You don’t know anything about him. Just let us take him off your hands, and we’ll see if we have any more problems with demons.”

Ignis wavered on his feet, unsure of how to respond. He felt keenly aware of Ardyn’s presence behind him, his tawny yellow eyes fixed on his back, his manner hardly concerned at all. Patiently waiting to see how Ignis would handle the situation.

Against all logic and good sense, Ignis was bolstered by it. 

“This is a coup,” he said quietly. “No matter how good your intentions, no matter what you think you know about this, you are taking arms against the office of the king. I can’t overlook this, my friend.”

There was a soft rustle of fabric behind him as Ardyn got to his feet, moving languidly and without concern.

“Ignis, that’s enough.”

The words were like a cold breath on the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. Ignis quieted at once.

“As much as I’d like to watch you two children bicker and play at intrigue, I think it’s in all our best interests to put an end to it. Do you really want to know the truth, Lord Amicitia? As a warning, you may not like it. There is very little against which you can pit that fine physique of yours. Very little that can be settled with fisticuffs.”

“Nothing is certain yet,” Ignis replied quickly. “We only have conjecture.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Ardyn stepped forward, light and lithe in his feet. As he passed Ignis, the backs of his knuckles brushed lightly over the small of Ignis’ back, raising a trail of gooseflesh. “I do enjoy having secrets with you.”

Gladio’s eyes narrowed. He set a hand on his sword as Ardyn came towards him. “Not another step. If you’ve got something to say, you can say it from there.”

“Dismiss the guards,” Ignis said. “Then we can speak as comrades.”

“Yes,” Ardyn purred. “Let’s stage a proper reunion. Don’t forget little Prompto. I haven’t seen him in so long.”

“That’s enough from you,” Ignis said sternly. He could not fathom why Ardyn would choose now to start being difficult. “Gladio, we’ll speak in my quarters in a half hour. Prompto too. I’ll tell you what I know, though it may not be what you want to hear.”

Gladio was silent for a long time; Ignis could almost hear him thinking it over.

“Fine,” he said at last. “But I’ll have my eye on him, if not you, Ignis.”

With that, Gladio turned on his heels and left, his men in lockstep behind him. Once he had shut the door behind him, Ignis at last let himself relax. With a sigh, he sank back onto the sofa.

“That was not ideal.”

“He’s as forceful as ever,” Ardyn said. Ignis was surprised to feel the cushions depress as he sat down at his side. “I like having him angry with me.”

“Is that why you had to goad him so? You may not care for your life, but you might at least show a little consideration of me.”

“I like having you angry with me, too.”

It had not been long since he had felt himself always preternaturally aware of Ardyn’s presence, the darkness and menace that seemed to pour off him in waves. That was gone now. At some point, it had vanished like mist before the rising sun. Now, when Ardyn reached for him, his hand had almost come into contact with Ignis’ shoulder before he realized it was there. 

Ignis had only enough time to position his arm between them, intercepting Ardyn’s hand before they could touch.

“That’s quite enough of that,” he said.

“You liked it well enough earlier,” Ardyn replied. He withdrew his hand, though slowly.

“I was fulfilling my end of out bargain.”

“And that’s all?”

Ignis tilted his chin back proudly. “If there was more to it, then it doesn’t matter now. You’ve gotten what you wanted, and now I expect you to take responsibility.”

“Be sensible, Your Highness.”

“I’ll handle Gladio,” Ignis went on, as if he had not heard Ardyn’s honied protestations. “You will tell him what he is due to know, and not a word more. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” There was a strange, grave note in Ardyn’s voice, one that Ignis did not dare linger over for too long. “I’ll follow your lead. Don’t worry about me.”

“See that you do.”

Ignis rose quickly. The longer he stayed in proximity to Ardyn, the more his hands tried to lose themselves in trembling. Though the darkness had left him, he was aware of the shape of Ardyn’s body, the contours of it. It was the body that had healed him after the Anomaly, that had been pressed so close to his the night before.

Both things immaterial in light of what would happen next.

“I’ll leave you to dress,” Ignis said quickly, and turned to go before Ardyn could muster a reply.

***

He went directly to his rooms, the antechamber outside his personal quarters that had been set aside for sensitive and confidential business.

Gladio and Prompto were already there. Ignis found the first by the wall of low-simmering heat that radiated off of him, like pressure slowly building in a closed stove, poised to explode without warning. The second he found by the steady stream of nervous prattle he was putting out. Prompto was engaged in a rambling report about the Anomaly, talking fast and urgent. 

The noise neither comforted nor annoyed Ignis, but simply flowed over him with no consequence. Prompto wanted to distract them from the harsh words they had spoken earlier, but his chatter did the opposite, creating a soothing background of white noise in which Ignis’ anxieties and resentments could hide.

But when the herald entered and announced Ardyn’s arrival, even Prompto fell silent.

A heavy guard showed him in, and they remained to watch over him. Ignis reached over and found Gladio’s arm with his hand, giving it a squeeze. He felt Gladio’s gaze land on him heavily, lingering for a long moment before he at last said, “It’s all right. You can leave him.”

The guard departed, but Ardyn’s languid and relaxed manner did not change. It was an ease he did not feel, a careless affectation that he wore like armor.

He dropped onto a divan as he said, “How nice to see you gentlemen together again. It’s as if I never left.”

“Nobody invited you to sit down,” Gladio growled. “And no one invited you back, so start talking or get out of my sight.”

“You still have your temper, I see. I remember that about you, though I thought you might have learned prudence by now. Your righteous indignation soured those last precious days with Noctis; I remember that, too.”

Ignis felt Gladio jerk away from him, and then he heard Prompto gasp out, “Wait!” But it was too late to react. Gladio had already seized Ardyn by the throat, dragged him to his feet, and thrust him aside so that he stumbled and fell to the marble floor.

“You’re not so strong anymore,” Gladio said. “You’re nothing now.”

He started to advance on Ardyn’s crumpled form, but Ignis stepped between them. He did not raise his voice, but a core of steel came into his tone. 

“Stop it. Both of you.” He reached out and took Gladio’s massive shoulders between his hand. “I know you’re angry. I know his being here is that last thing any of us wanted. But there is a reason for this, I promise.”

Feeling that Gladio had calmed down, at least for the moment, Ignis turned back to Ardyn, offering a hand to help him up.

“And as for you, don’t think I’m not cross with you. You’re afraid, I see that, but you promised us answers. We’re all waiting.”

Ardyn climbed to his feet. He looked Ignis in the eye for a moment, and then turned abruptly away.

“Afraid,” he muttered. “How absurd.”

He went resolutely to the sidebar and poured himself a drink. Downing it in a single swallow, with his back still to them, he began to speak, pouring out the story of his resurrection, of Ifrit’s demand, the sacrifice that he must now make. Ignis had half expected him to bring up the details of their tryst the night before, if for no other reason than to humiliate him and make trouble, but on that account Ardyn remained mercifully silent.

When he had finished, Prompto said, “You’re talking like all this is for sure, but the only evidence you have is dream.”

“Not a dream,” Ardyn said. “A vision, from the Astral Gods themselves.”

He turned back at last, and Ignis felt his eyes swing past him, lingering for a moment as he added, “Strangely, it did not return last night. I slept well indeed.”

“I don’t care if it’s true or not,” Gladio said. “If it is, then he needs to die. If it’s not…” He paused, shrugging. “Seems like whatever our problem is, the solution is the same.”

“No,” Ignis broke in. “We can’t force him. That’s not the nature of the sacrifice. He has to go willingly.”

“And?” Gladio said. “Is he willing?”

Here, Ignis hesitated. “We’re working on it.”

He was surprised to hear Ardyn laugh abruptly. “Yes, the regent has certainly been doing his best to convince me. A steady diet of scolding and lecturing that almost has me ready to give up on life entirely. But there is just one thing I want first.”

“No conditions,” Gladio said. “And no favors. Either you go, or I throw you in the dungeon with some of my men who haven’t had a crack at you yet. They’ll convince you.”

Ardyn only laughed again, and then went on as if he had not heard. “I want my father’s sword. Surely you won’t deny me that.”

Ignis had expected Gladio to refuse outright, to continue to rage and threaten with impunity, but instead, he grew thoughtful.

“Where is this sword? Do you even know?”

“I did until recently,” Ardyn replied. “Not in the depths of some dusty crypt, or hidden in a forgotten tomb. No, certainly not. It resides in the National Museum of Nifelheim. Or at least it did up until the city fell. It’s a shame the way these things take a toll on public institutions.”

“You want us to return to Nifelheim?” Prompto said.

“No,” Ardyn replied. “I want to return. You don’t think I trust you to find the sword, do you? My dear boy, I hope you don’t take offense, but you hardly have a refined collector’s eye.”

“And when we find it?” Gladio asked.

“ _If_ we find it,” Ardyn said. “Nifelheim is close to Ifrit’s sacred caverns. I’ll go there. Complete the ritual. I swear it. I’m tired of this world already, if you must know, but I don’t want to go quietly, without making at least a little fuss.”

“Because you’re selfish,” Gladio said.

“Because I am human,” Ardyn snapped back. “And as such I’m impatient, so you had better come to a decision before I change my mind.”

In the silence that followed, Ignis stepped to Gladio’s side. “I’ll go with him, my friend. Keep an eye on things.”

“You can’t go alone,” Prompto protested. “We haven’t had any word from Nifelheim in more than a decade. Who knows what’s happening over there.”

Gladio nodded. “He’s right. We can’t risk you, Your Highness. But we also can’t risk leaving the city undefended in the event of another attack. I’ll go as well.”

Prompto uttered an uncomfortable cough. “I really don’t want to go back there. Not to Nifelheim. I’m not sure if I can.”

“Then rest easy,” Ignis replied. “No one will force you.”

But the words were scarcely out when Prompto added abruptly, “Fine! I’ll go! Someone has to keep you two from fighting over stupid shit. It might as well be me.”

Ignis was about to thank them, but before he could Ardyn took up the thread, though he sounded a good deal less sincere and more laconic than Ignis would have.

“All hail my champions,” Ardyn purred. “Defenders of the true king one last time. Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me I need to go and prepare for our road trip.”


	12. Chapter 12

Alone once more in his gilded cell, Ardyn poured himself the last of the wine and went to the window to watch the sun go down. It was a natural twilight this time, one with no hint of menace or danger, but there was no guarantee how much longer that could be counted on. The clock on the great cataclysm that he had set in motion centuries ago had been restarted, and it would not stop again until he was dead.

The thought was extremely unpleasant to him, but he was spared having to brood on it long. Ardyn had scarcely settled in with his drink when he heard the key turning in the lock, a sound he had been expecting since he arrived.

A moment later, Ignis slipped inside. He was considerably less careful than he usually was, pushing the door closed behind him with a noise that could almost be called a slam.

“You have the pinched look of a very angry schoolmarm,” Ardyn said. “I suppose you’ve come to rap my knuckles with a ruler?”

As soon as he spoke, Ignis rounded on him. In his agitated state, he did not walk with his habitual searching steps, and, as he crossed the room, Ardyn noticed that Ignis had put himself on a collision course with a table. For a moment, he really did consider letting him trip. At least Ignis wouldn’t be in any state to lecture him from a heap on the floor. 

In the end, his budding conscious won out. Ardyn rose swiftly and stepped forward to catch Ignis by the shoulders. Ignis stiffened in his grip, but did not pull away as Ardyn guided him around the corner of the table.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ignis’ hands came up and fumbled over Ardyn’s chest, clutching in the lapels of his robe.

“Your father’s sword?” he said quietly. “Never in my life have I heard such brazen nonsense.”

Ardyn offered his arm, leading Ignis over so he could sit. “Do you doubt that I had a father? Or that he was a noble warrior in his day?”

“All I doubt is your sincerity,” Ignis sniffed. “You don’t give a damn about the sword. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but--”

“I suppose it will do no good to tell you of my complicated relationship with my father?” Ardyn said, allowing a touch of melodrama to enter into his voice. “How he was always firm but fair. The way he was taken from me when I was just a boy?”

“Stop it!” Ignis’ voice rose into an imperious command, a kingly resonance that Ardyn had to admit sent the hint of a shiver down his spine. “After all I did for you last night, because I thought it was what you needed.”

“It was what I needed,” Ardyn shrugged. “At the moment.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to give myself to you?”

Ardyn scowled. He had certainly not meant for the conversation to take such a turn. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night. Or this morning, for that matter, as we were so rudely interrupted before we could mount an attempt on round two.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Ignis regathered his pride, lifting his chin and drawing his shoulders back. “Not when you are determined to send us on this wild goose chase. Tell me what you really want. What are you planning?”

“I felt like getting out a little,” Ardyn said carelessly.

“A journey overland, undertaken by the king and his three companions.” Ignis sighed. “Do you think me such a fool that I wouldn’t make the connection? You want to taint even our memories of those last days with…”

He broke off abruptly, avoiding the name, as if every time he said it aloud it rubbed some of the shine off it.

“I hadn’t noticed it until now, but that is quite the coincidence,” Ardyn said.

Ignis looked violently away. “You’re a monster. Why must you be like this?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. It doesn’t suit you. Listen, whatever happened between the golden boy Noctis and the three of you convinced him to give up his life for a world he would never see. I can’t fathom what it was, but perhaps it will happen again.”

Ignis hesitated a moment before turning his face back to Ardyn’s. His expression was perfectly composed, his eyes dry.

“Gladio will not forgive me if he ever finds out about last night. You’ve already taken so much from me. I think, in time, you will take the rest.”

“You think I’d tell him?”

“I don’t know.” Ignis shook his head. “I honestly cannot predict what you will do from one moment to the next. That story about your young acolyte that you told me earlier, that was an anecdote from the life of a good and selfless man. I think it was that same man who saved me in the square earlier.”

“It could not have been; I’m not that man anymore,” Ardyn said. “He was lost long ago.”

“No, there’s still something of him left.” Hesitantly, he reached out, setting a hand over Ardyn’s chest, finding the steady throb of his heart. “Even if it’s just a fragment, or a fracture.”

“Any fracture that remains is of the type that flaws a good piece of glass or weakens the edge of a blade.”

Ignis’ lips curved into the shape of a smile, an expression that did not reach his eyes.

“Perhaps I’ve been going about this all wrong, trying to cajole and pressure you into doing your duty. I won’t ask again, how’s that?”

“Do whatever you like. I haven’t been listening for a while now.”

To Ardyn’s pleasant surprise, Ignis laughed. The sound came out as a soft exhalation of breath, accompanied by a subtle coloring of his cheeks.

“You do love vexing me,” he said.

“If I wanted to vex you, I’d do this,” Ardyn said as he leaned in to steal a kiss.

Ignis went still in his grip, his soft lips pliant. If not inviting, then not rejecting either. Ardyn let the kiss linger longer than he had intended, hoping to coax something more out of him, even if it was just a slap to the face.

When he leaned back, he regarded Ignis’ still expression for a long moment. He didn’t speak or try to move.

Ardyn was almost proud of him. He was starting to learn not to take the bait. But before he could say as much, Ignis sprang into action all at once. He caught Ardyn’s face between his hands, holding it hard as he dragged him down to his waiting mouth.

His kiss was hungry; his teeth cut into Ardyn’s unsuspecting mouth. Even when Ardyn tried to pull away, Ignis kept his hold on him. His fingers were tangled in Ardyn’s hair, knotted in so tightly that when he at least loosened his grip several red strands were pulled out by the roots. Ardyn revelled in the small, localized shock of pain.

Ignis was breathing hard. There were two bright spots of color high on his pale cheekbones.

Ardyn licked his lips and said quietly, “At last, you show your true face to me.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Ignis said firmly. “After everything, you might at least take me seriously.”

He gave Ardyn a shove in the shoulder, not quite enough to budge him but enough that Ardyn knew he meant it. Moving slowly, just so that Ignis would know that he was doing it of his own volition, Ardyn reclined onto his back. With one hand, he loosened the knot of his robe, spreading it open over his chest.

“Well, my king. You’ve got me where you want me. What now?”

A cautious expression flickered over Ignis’ face. He reached out with a tentative hand, running it down Ardyn’s chest, tracing the sharp angles of his chest and abdominal muscles. With a flick of his wrist, he finished unknotting Ardyn’s robe, laying it open over his hips and loins.

He ran the backs of his fingers along Ardyn’s cock, making it twitch and harden. Ardyn was glad that Ignis could not see his face and the expression that appeared on it for a moment.

“What do you think of that?” Ardyn purred.

Ignis did not reply. He leaned back, squaring his shoulders as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved a glass vial of oil. “I didn’t forget this time,” he said, thrusting the vial towards him. “Anoint yourself.”

Ardyn took the glass from him, opening it so he could dampen his fingers. He moved slowly, knowing that Ignis was tracking his every move by sound and sense. Much as he was loath to admit it, he was beginning to warm to this newly imperious and commanding side of his bedmate. Gripping his own cock at the base, he began to stroke it with the oil, slicking it from root to tip.

He could tell that Ignis was paying attention: his lips were slightly parted, his eyes narrowed into bright slits. Ardyn sucked in a shuddering breath as he touched himself, letting the air out in the barest of moans. Playing it up for his rapt audience.

As his shaft grew harder and hotter to the touch, Ardyn slowed his movements and said, “Not to second guess you, Your Highness, but you might want to consider undressing.”

Ignis jumped, as if he had forgotten Ardyn was there. In a flutter of startled motion, his hands flew to his collar, tugging at the knot of his tie. He pulled it off, setting it carefully aside, before he started on the buttons of his shirt. 

Ardyn watched the slow uncovering of milky white skin. He knew already how lovely Ignis looked without a stitch on, but he found himself enchanted by it all over again. Though he was sure that this whole situation could very easily get out of hand, he sat up and took Ignis by the waist, drawing him down.

“Rest your trembling hands,” he murmured. “I’ll take it from here.”

Ignis stretched his long, lean body over Ardyn’s. One of his thighs fitted between Ardyn’s legs, chafing against the underside of his cock, making him gasp. Ignis found his mouth in a fumbling kiss.

In a few quick movements, he rid Ignis of his clothing. Tossing them aside carelessly earned him a look of mild reproach, one which was quickly repeated when Ardyn dug in one heel and lifted Ignis clear of the couch, reversing their positions.

Ignis landed on his back, and Ardyn kissed him once more, pausing to close his teeth around Ignis’ lower lip. “Turn over.”

He saw Ignis’ throat hitch as he swallowed hard. Moving at a slow, terrible, measured pace, he first sat up and then turned over onto all fours. He braced his elbows against the arm of the couch, planted one knee in the cushions and let the other leg trail to the floor, balancing with his toes curled into the rug.

His back arched, angling his hips up: an invitation.

“What shall we do with you now?” Ardyn mused, his voice low and possessed of a hoarse edge. “A repeat performance, perhaps?”

He drew back his hand, and one the last word he landed a slap on Ignis’ ass. Ignis’ body jerked forward, and he let out a short, harsh cry. Without another word of protest, he settled back, ready for more.

Ardyn studied the pink mark gradually coloring Ignis’ pale skin. The night before he had been rough, and Ignis had met him at every stroke. Still, there might be better ways yet to get a reaction out of this steely and taciturn creature.

“Or maybe not,” Ardyn went on. “Maybe another approach is in order.”

Setting a hand on Ignis’ calf, he bent over him, kissing him once on the small of the back and then moving lower. Finding the tight ring of muscle between his legs and teasing it with his tongue.

Ignis gasped, one hand flying to his mouth to stifle a shuddering moan. “What are you doing?” he moaned. “You mustn’t…”

“You would prefer I abuse you?” Ardyn said. “So you can tell yourself that I am still the monster you always thought me to be? No, my little king, it’s not that easy. You were the one who came to me. Now, you can at least have the decency to sit back and enjoy yourself.”

Ignis shuddered, but said nothing. It was not the impassioned denial Ardyn had been hoping for; it seemed his was still going to have to work if he wanted to wring any emotion out of this particular stone. Bending his head once more, he returned to his work, licking and teasing around Ignis’ entrance.

He reapplied the oil while he worked, first wetting his palms and then slicking them over his cock. The organ was already stiff, sensitive and alive to the slightest touch, and Ardyn had to work it slowly, with a delicate touch to keep from bringing an abrupt end to the fun.

When he was sure he was wet enough, he raised his damp fingers to replace his mouth on Ignis’ trembling flesh. Teasing in slow half-circles, and then pushing inside.

Ignis made no noise at all, seeming not even to breathe, as Ardyn worked him slowly. First with two fingers, and then adding a third when it seemed that he was ready for it. Slightly - so slightly that it was at first all but imperceptible - Ignis began to move with him, rocking his hips, pushing back against Ardyn’s hand.

He was as ready as he was ever going to be. Ardyn raised himself on his knees, bracing Ignis’ hips with one hand and using the other to guide his cock into him.

Ignis cried out, a sound that was only muffled in the slightest by the hand he clamped hard over his mouth.

“This is what you wanted.” Ardyn pulled out, and then thrust back in savagely, sheathing himself all the way to the hilt. “Isn’t it?”

Ignis moaned, the sound all but lost in his pressing palm. With his head still bent to reveal the shapely nape of his neck, he nodded.

“Then say it,” Ardyn purred. “Let me hear you.”

He kept moving inside him, though more slowly now, as Ignis contemplated his words. He tossed his head once, twice, as if his neck were snared in an unshakable yoke. At last, he dropped his hand to the arm of the sofa, his fingers digging in so hard that his nails sheared off the plush of the fabric.

“I want this,” he said, his voice growing shakey on the last word. “Please…”

“That’s good,” Ardyn said. “You know just how to convince a man.”

He threaded the fingers of one hand into Ignis’ hair, knotting his fingers in tight and jerking his head back. Ignis cried out as Ardyn forced him back onto his knees. He felt his cock slide in deeper as Ignis settled back on his lap.

“If you want it, then you’re going to have to work for it,” Ardyn continued. “Move your hips.”

Ignis drew a deep, shuddering breath. Then he lifted himself on his knees. Lifted, and then lowered himself again, taking Ardyn’s cock in all the way to the root.

This time, it was Ardyn’s turn to moan, softly and on the edge of his breath, expelling the sound against Ignis’ turned shoulder. “Keep going.”

He arched his back, lifting himself again, establishing a steady rhythm. Ardyn kept one hand tangled in Ignis’ hair, pulling it sharply every time he raised up. The other he snaked around his hips, wrapping it around Ignis’ straining cock. He stroked it in time with the movements of Ignis’ body, and with each pump of his fist he drew a shuddering gasp.

His head fell back onto Ardyn’s shoulder. “More,” he whispered. “More, I beg you.”

“As much as you want, my king,” Ardyn said harshly, against his ear. “As much as you think you can take.”

Ignis’ movements were faster now, more urgent. Ardyn’s cock was buried deep inside him when he felt a knot of heat beginning to take shape in the pit of his stomach. He shifted his grip on Ignis’ body, his slick palms slipping on sweat-damp skin. When he came, it felt less like a release and more like an act of violence. It was as if the pleasure had been ripped unwilling from some place deep inside him, a place he had long been trying to protect.

A thin cry slipped from Ignis’ lips where he felt the hot seed fill him, but he didn’t stop jerking his hips. He fucked himself frantically while Ardyn was still hard, while his hand was still tight around his cock, until a moment later he worked himself to his own release.

With a moan, he tore free, flinging himself against the back of the couch.

Ardyn fell back on his hands, catching his breath. He was shivering, and his thoughts refused to come together into a coherent whole. When at last his head cleared, the first thing he noticed was that Ignis had not stirred from where he had fallen.

Slowly, taking great caution that his hands had stopped shaking, Ardyn reached out and touched the back of Ignis’ shoulder. “That was something,” he said.

Ignis shrugged weakly, not enough to pull away.

“I hate to think I left you disappointed,” Ardyn went on. “I did put my back into it, as it were.”

“You were--” Ignis started to say, but he never finished. Instead, he drew himself back up onto his knees, pulling back his shoulders and turning back so Ardyn could see his face and the composed, neutral expression it wore.

All at once, he darted forward and pressed a firm kiss to Ardyn’s mouth. He broke it off, just as abruptly, but he didn’t lean back far. Ardyn could feel his breath on his sore and raw-feeling lips as he said, “We mustn’t. Not again.”

Ardyn could not help but laugh, quietly, as he drew Ignis back for another kiss. “You just keep your distance, and it won’t be a problem.”

He had not intended it as a suggestion, but as soon as he had spoken Ignis pulled away. Fumbling for his clothes, he climbed to his feet.

Ardyn reclined on the sofa, watching him dress. “Have you forgotten about the guards? I suppose I’ll have to let you stay again.”

“No,” Ignis replied. “Not this time. Alas, I am far beyond worrying about disgrace in their eyes.”

“Then come back soon,” Ardyn said. “After all, how much more time are we really going to have together?”

He had meant it to sound glib, careless, but perhaps there was something off about his tone. The look Ignis cast at him right before he fled the room was one of grief rather than annoyance.


	13. Chapter 13

The sun rose sluggishly the next morning, lingering for an unnatural hour beneath the eastern horizon, slipping above it only reluctantly. It cast the cold and leaden light of midwinter over the kingdom, foretelling a day that would be short and dreary, slouching quickly towards evening.

Ardyn had slept badly, and so he was not displeased by the late and lackadaisical start. He had been plagued again by troubling dreams. The voice of the Inferian echoing inside his skull, the flames the flickered over his body like probing hands. It was the same as it had been on the first night, though Ifrit had not come to him when Ignis was there. 

The regent had been a welcome respite from all the divine pawing, playing Ganymede to the most unsubtle of the Astral gods. Ardyn wondered if it was jealousy that had kept Ifrit at bay, or if he was simply content to wait. After all, what was one more night to he who had been there on the day the earth was forged in flame?

Whatever the case, Ardyn did not think he could count on Ignis to shield him for long. Though he supposed he would see the man again, whatever tenuous connection they had made would soon be broken. Ignis would come to realize what Ardyn had known from the first: they were both only using each other. It neither would nor could be anything more than that.

Still, when Ardyn heard the key turning in the lock shortly before dawn, he realized he had been waiting for it and he was only a little surprised to hear it so soon.

“You just couldn’t stay away, could you?” Ardyn said, loud and clear so that Ignis would know right where to find him and they could pick up their dance right where they had left off. However, when he turned to glance towards the door, it was not Ignis who opened it just a crack, scarcely enough to slip past when he turned his body sideways.

“That’s not a creepy thing to say at all,” Prompto muttered. He shut the door behind himself but stayed well over by it, as far away as he could get.

Ardyn frowned, making an effort not to let his disappointment show. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?”

For a moment he wondered if Niflheim’s little lost sheep might not also have things to work out, a terrible burden of guilt that could only be assuaged in the arms of his enemy. Now that would have been too great a victory. And also, it seemed, too much to hope for. Propto kept his distance and kept his guard up as he said, “I don’t really know what’s going on with you, but I guess we’re doing this thing. Gladio’s got the car pulled around and everything.”

“Splendid,” Ardyn replied. “But now I have a choice to make. Shall I call shotgun, or reserve a cozy seat in the back next to you?”

“You’re going to end up stuffed in the trunk if you aren’t careful,” Prompto said. Cautiously, reluctantly, making it clear with every movement that it was the last thing he wanted to do, he came forward a few steps.

“It’s not going to be great out there,” he said. “I don’t think you did it - not really - but it’s getting darker and a hell of a lot weirder.”

“I had my suspicions of as much,” Ardyn said.

Prompto hesitated a moment, then he reached into his coat. When he drew out a long dagger with a stiletto blade, Ardyn’s eyes sharpened on it and he tensed minutely without meaning too. Surely Prompto could not have come with assassination on the mind, even if the thought had surely occurred to him.

“Here,” Prompto said tightly. He set the weapon on the corner of a table. “Take it.” 

His eyes narrowing, Ardyn stepped forward. He picked up the dagger, weighting it in his hand. “This is a curious development. What’s all this about?”

Prompto sighed. “Some stupid shit, probably.” His eyes were still fixed on the knife, watching it warily as Ardyn made a few experimental passes with it. “But you should keep it, in case you need it. In case one of us isn’t there.”

“I’m used to taking care of myself. Don’t worry about that.”

The blade glowed faintly in Ardyn’s hand, taking on the crystalline quality of a glaive. It disappeared, and he felt a bead of heat travelling up his arm as the weapon bonded to him.

“Don’t let Gladio see that thing,” Prompto went on. “He doesn’t understand. No, that’s not right. He understands fine; he just doesn’t like it. I don’t love it either, but I saw what you did for Ignis. We need him alive, and if he needs something from you…”

He broke off, as if unwilling to go on. Ardyn wondered if Prompto dared to suspect the true nature of his relationship with Ignis, which had become very suspicious indeed of late. He wondered if he had the balls to speak its name...

In the end, he couldn’t quite manage it. Prompto snapped out an irritable, “Well, _whatever_. We’re leaving as soon as the sun is up, so just be ready.”

Most likely regretting his visit already, Prompto turned on his heels and departed. Left alone once more to await the dawn, Ardyn reached within and found the glaive. A faint glow coalesced around his hand, and then the dagger appeared in his fist.

Ardyn banished the blade, and then repeated the process a few more times. Draw and release, until the process was smooth and clean, without a hitch or hesitation. Prompto had been right about one thing, at least: he might need it yet.

***

It was mid-morning by the time they finally set out from Insomnia. Gladio had taken an armored SUV out of the royal fleet. It was bulky and graceless, lacking both the style and the sense of history of the long-gone Regalia. Gladio ordered Ardyn into the middle row of seats by himself, with Ignis poker-faced and regal in the row behind him, Prompto up front in the passenger seat, and the king’s shield himself behind the wheel.

No one spoke. The silence inside the vehicle was absolute, penetrated only by hiss of the wheels on the road. Gladio refused to even turn on the air, and before they had even passed the through the royal grainlands that surrounded the city, Ardyn was already tired of the heat.

He was tired of the boredom, too. Gladio was determined to not let any of them enjoy themselves, and had even shut down Prompto’s offer to choose the music with a withering and steely stare. Ardyn occupied himself by stealing the occasional glance back at Ignis. He, at least, seemed unaffected by the warm weather. His high, regal brow was not marred by so much as a single bed of sweat.

His pale, sightless eyes were fixed straight ahead. Not seeing, but also not straying for an instant from some fixed point beyond the front windshield. 

Ardyn wondered what he was thinking. He considered several options, but none seemed quite right. Ignis’ closed-off and neutral expression gave him no clues, save one from the past that could only have been a wild and misleading red herring.

Eudoxia, his acolyte in those ancient days, had also often worn similarly inscrutable expressions, though usually with the barest hint of a smile. Ardyn had found it intriguing from the first, though he was far from alone in that. Eudoxia had been popular at court, a popularity she had done nothing to discourage. In the end, she was all the old puritans at the temple had feared, and together they had taken a shared, stolen delight in that. Ardyn had encouraged her many affairs, even as they had kept her from her duties as sage. It had been her single-minded determination to wring out all the pleasure the material world had to offer that had shielded her from the worst dangers inherent in the spiritual realm.

Without realizing he was doing it, Ardyn’s hand had drifted back between the seats, towards Ignis’ knees, which rested primly pressed together. Keeping his eyes ahead, trained on the front seat where Gladio and Prompto sat in constipated silence, he cupped one had around Ignis’ shapely calf, caressing it.

Ignis’ muscles went tense beneath his touch, but he did not try to pull away. Instead, he unclasped the hands that rested neatly folded in his lap, and brushed Ardyn’s touch away. When he had withdrawn, Ignis said quietly, “Let’s stop at the next outpost. We’ll ask the Hunters about the area.”

His voice was steady, even, carrying neither implicit promise nor rebuke. Ardyn was not entirely sure what he had just borne witness to.

“Yeah,” Gladio said through his clenched jaw. Then he resumed his silence for another full hour, until at last some sign of civilization drew into view along the side of the road. It had been a truckstop, once, but at some point during the Long Night it had been shorn up and turned into a fort. The walls were old, but crowned with shiny new coils of barbed wire along the top.

Gladio pulled in, attracting attention but not much interest from the homesteaders and Hunters and member sof the royal guard who had been unlucky enough to be assigned to this place.

Ardyn climbed out of the SUV and was brushed unceremoniously aside before he could turn to check on Ignis.

“You don’t have to get out,” Gladio said. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis replied. He offered his hand delicately for Gladio to help him out of his seat. “I could use some air.”

“Sure,” Gladio replied, but he obviously wasn’t in love with the idea. He exchanged a glance with Prompto, who instantly cleaved to Ignis’ side.

Ardyn watched Prompto escort him off, then he turned to Gladio. “Does that make us partners, then?”

“It means you keep a low profile. And don’t try anything.”

“Lord Amicitia, I’m hardly going to run off into the wilderness.”

Gladio did not reply save for an unhappy grunt. He turned quickly and went to talk to the captain of the guard who had come down to meet him, leaving Ardyn behind as if he were mortified at the notion anyone might think they were together.

That was fine with Ardyn. He hung back, sticking to the long shadows cast by the setting sun, and listened. They were all talking about the darkness. It seemed that they had noticed the shortening of the days, the deepening blackness of the night. Some of them had heard sounds from the woods the evening before, noises that they knew could not have come from any earthly creature.

The plague was general all over the land, but the symptoms were not so advanced out here in the provinces. Somehow, the onset of the darkness was localized around Insomnia, radiating outward from there.

But perhaps that was not quite right wither. Ardyn could feel it already: the pressure building inside his head, the skin-crawling sensation of being immersed in some impure liquid. When he looked down, he realized he could see the shadows growing, lengthening before his very eyes, as night came on with a speed that should have been impossible.

The darkness that stood poised to swallow the land was not tied to Insomnia; it was tied to him. Ardyn himself was the spoke around which the wheel of death turned.

He felt a touch on his arm, making him jump, much to his shame.

“We’re staying here tonight,” Ignis said to him, ignoring Ardyn’s uncharacteristic display of nerves. “They tell me it will be too dark to travel soon.”

“They’re right,” Ardyn said. “But I doubt tomorrow will be any better.”

“It will have to be good enough,” Ignis replied. His hand lingered a moment longer on Ardyn’s arm, fingers nervously kneading into fabric.

At last he said, “Slip out tonight after the others go to bed. If you are able; if you’re willing. I want to speak with you.”

Ardyn might have toyed with him, might have used the display of vulnerability to extract still more painful and embarrassing confessions out of Ignis. But instead he checked himself and replied, “Of course, my king. As long as you’ll be safe.”

“Yes,” Ignis echoed vaguely. “I’ll be safe. You’ll be with me.”

All at once, Ignis’ head came up as if he had heard something. He backed away from Ardyn swiftly, and turned just as Gladio came around the corner.

“There you are,” Ignis said. “Though a thousand men might march in time, I would still recognize your tread amongst them, my friend.”

“It’s getting dark,” Gladio replied shortly. He glanced over Ignis’ shoulder at Ardyn, who did his very best to look innocent though he knew he was far from carrying it off.

“I know,” Ignis said. “They’ve prepared rooms in the guardhouse for us. I’m headed there now, so you don’t have to worry. Perhaps I’ll start dinner, if I can find my way around the mess hall. I’m sure I’ll manage…”

“No, let me come with you.” Gladio’s tone was reluctant, his gaze still fixed on Ardyn until he at last let Ignis’ tear him away.

Ardyn was left watching their retreating backs, wondering why he had ever been concerned for Ignis’ safety. He had never been the one who needed protecting.


	14. Chapter 14

That night, Ardyn lay awake in the darkness of the guardhouse listening to the wind beat against the walls. It had been a long, wearying day but he did not want to close his eyes. He knew what waited for him if he fell asleep: Ifrit’s wandering hands and menacing promises.

He was certain he would rather face down an army of demons than that, but whether he would rather see Ignis again, he could not say. All the same, when he heard familiar, careful, searching, graceful footfalls leave the room next door and make their way stealthily down the hallway, Ardyn rose to follow them.

The courtyard was lit by floodlights that formed a glowing perimeter around the fort, beyond which the darkness was impenetrable and absolute. Ardyn could hear movement in the treeline: heavy shambling footsteps and quick darting ones. The creatures were out there, watching and waiting, but they did not dare come into the light.

Ignis was poised at the very edge of the perimeter, his toes almost up against the darkness. He was looking out into the night, unable to see anything but undoubtedly understanding more than Ardyn could hope to.

He approached him slowly, but as he moved across the courtyard, he could hear the noises out in the forest becoming more erratic, more agitated. Deep guttural cries reached his ears, mingling with the sound of the wind until Ardyn could not be sure where one began and the next ended.

They were reacting to his presence, those creature of the scourge. They had sensed him or scented him and it was working them into a frenzy. Ardyn did not think they would dare cross into the compound, but he did not envy anyone caught out there without a light.

As he drew near to Ignis’ turned back, he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Something dark and without shape, a whirling cloud of deeper blackness imposed upon the blackness of the night; Ardyn could say nothing about its appearance save that it was massive in size. 

A series of white sparks, flashed in the center of the cloud, some arcing upward and some falling to the earth. Ardyn was slow to recognize them as teeth. The creature opened its massive jaw, the top row of fangs stretching up, up until it hovered as high above them as the roof of the guard house.

It let its breath out in a low rumble, ruffling Ardyn’s clothes and making his stomach twist into knots. 

Ignis let out a cry of disgust and horror as the fetid wind touched him, He leapt back, colliding squarely with Ardyn’s chest. Ardyn felt him tense, start to pull away, but he caught him by the arms and said in a voice that surprised even him with its gentleness and calm, “It’s only me.”

When he felt Ardyn’s hands encircle his biceps, Ignis relaxed again almost at once.

The massive thing out in the darkness hissed at them from the edge of the light, and then vanished without a sound back into the night. That was more like it, Ardyn told himself. He had enough on his mind without demonic eavesdroppers rudely intruding on a private moment.

“It’s gone,” he said to Ignis, running his hands up and down his arms a few times, feeling the gooseflesh that prickled on his skin. “Though perhaps we’ll be more comfortable back inside?”

Ignis allowed himself to be led back into the safety of the courtyard; Ardyn took him around the side of a storage shed so that they were shielded from prying eyes. In the white glow from the floodlights, Ignis’s face looked pale and his eyes were hooded with dark circles. 

He was still beautiful, though. There was no denying that.

Lifting one of his elegant, long-fingered hands, Ignis traced the expression on Ardyn’s face. Boldly exploring the downturned corners of his mouth, his still lips, the arrogant tilt of his chin. Ardyn waited it out impassively, sure that Ignis would find little there that would be of use or interest to him.

At last, in a hushed voice, Ignis said, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this for much longer.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Ardyn replied.

“I let you violate my body; that I could easily endure. But this is too much. This journey of yours trespasses upon my very memories.”

“We are going to claim my father’s sword,” Ardyn said. “It has very little to do with you, or with your memories.”

“All that time spent hating you, and I don’t think it ever occured to me that you must hate us in kind. That you must hate the world to try to do what you did.” His brow furrowed, and he went on in a whisper, “I never knew you hated me so much.”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Ardyn said, unable to hide his irritation. “Of course I hated you once, but no longer. How could I? I thought it would have been obvious by now.”

“Then why insist upon this farce?” Ignis’ voice kept getting tighter, more strained, poised to snap at any moment. “This sad echo of our last journey with Noctis. You want to taint my memories of him with your presence. Why else would you have brought us out here? It is so I cannot even remember him without thinking of you. I am pleased to tell you, Ardyn: it has worked. You’ve finally taken him from me. The last thing I had left of him.”

“Stop,” Ardyn said. “You’re being ridiculous. You think that if I wanted to destroy you I couldn’t have done it from the comfort of the palace? If I had wanted to ruin you, I could simply have told your friends all the details about how you writhed beneath me, about how you begged me…”

“You’re vile,” Ignis snapped, jerking away. “I should never have bothered trying to help you--”

Ardyn frowned slightly at the sight of Ignis’ turned back. He didn’t like the way this was playing out; didn’t like the sensation of Ignis pulling away from him, almost certainly for good this time.

“You arrogant little fool,” he said quietly.

Ignis paused, and though he did not turn back, his shoulders ratcheted up as if he were waiting for a blow to fall.

“A lovely speech,” Ardyn went on, “that only demonstrates how little you really know. In fact, I’m starting to think that you don’t really understand me at all, my darling.”

“Explain…” Ignis swallowed, his throat clicking dryly. “Explain yourself.”

“Must I? Very well, as you clearly lack the sensitivity to realize it yourself.” He laid a hand on Ignis’ shoulder with a gentleness that was in sharp contrast to his sharp and irritable tone. “Ignis, listen to me.I don’t want to replace Noctis. I want to know what it is like to be him.”

Slowly, Ignis turned back to him.

“How I hate the way that sounds when I say it out loud,” Ardyn went on. “But it is the truth. Of course I could never be like your king was. Not in your memories, and not in this life. I remember when you traveled with him, though. It changed him, somehow. It made him better. I could not understand it then, but I thought that, this time, if the circumstances were right…”

He trailed off, unsure of how precisely to continue. Very quietly, gravely, Ignis supplied for him, “Are you jealous of him?”

“Yes, perhaps.” Ardyn sighed. “He was well loved, though by my estimation he had done very little in his short life that was worthy of love. I couldn’t understand his people’s devotion to him when once I had given mine everything - my very soul - and I was rewarded only with suspicion and hate.”

“Ardyn.” Ignis came back to him, setting his palms lightly on Ardyn’s chest and leaning against him. “I hope you don’t become exactly like Noctis. He never wanted me the way you do.”

“He was an idiot,” Ardyn scoffed.

“Don’t--” Ignis started to say, but Ardyn cut him off.

“I mean it,” Ardyn said. “I am in earnest. Any man would be lucky to have you for his bed.”

Ignis’ cheeks colored.

Ardyn went on blithely, relishing being back on Ignis’ good side. “That he chose a naive, prissy, sanctimonious little girl over you says more about Noctis than it does about you.”

“Don’t,” Ignis said, distressed. “Don’t talk about the Lady Oracle like that. It’s improper, to compare me to her.”

Flustered and embarrassed, he did the only thing that could possibly be appropriate under the circumstances: he leaned forward, standing a little taller on his toes so he could press his mouth to Ardyn’s.

Ardyn kissed him back willingly, parting his lips so Ignis could slip his eager tongue between them. There was a strange feeling welling up inside of him. It was fond and affectionate, and yet shot through with a pain that was sharp, keen.

“You’re a wonderful person,” he told Ignis when he released his lips. “Never come to doubt that. Never doubt your true worth.”

Ignis was quiet for a long time, composing himself piece by piece.

“I’m only a servant to the king,” he said at last. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Ardyn replied, and before Ignis could respond, he drew him forward into another kiss.

Ignis’ hands twisted in the front of Ardyn’s clothing, knotting his fingers into the fabric. Clinging to him as if the moment he loosened his grip they would be torn apart.

“I know what you want,” he whispered, feverishly.

“And you?” Ardyn said. “What is it you desire?”

“Only that we neither speak, nor think, nor compromise anymore.”

Keeping one palm pressed against Ardyn’s body to guide him, he knelt at his feet. The opposite hand went to the front of his trousers, undoing the clasps and buttons.

Ardyn drew a long, slow breath. His hands twisted into fists at his sides, aching to plunge into Ignis’ silken hair. Holding back, though, out of some stubborn pride and unwillingness to admit that this could possibly mean anything more than the most base and carnal interpretation.

Ignis eased Ardyn’s cock out, holding it a moment in his palm while it gradually grew hot and hard in the cool night air. Slowly, he began to stroke it, working the shaft from root to tip. His hand was soft but not without strength, like a silk gauntlet enfolding Ardyn’s sensitive flesh.

At last, Ardyn let out a sharp exhalation. He had been holding his breath for a long time, long enough that his chest had begun to ache. With the first flood of new air into his lungs, he felt as if he had been released from an enchantment and could move freely again. 

Setting a hand on the back of Ignis’ neck, he said, “Are you just going to play with it? Or are you going to give it a taste?”

Ignis leaned in, his lips parting slightly to slide over the head of Ardyn’s cock. He felt the organ twitch and harden at the first touch of his velvety lips. At first, Ignis was content just to tease him, drawing his tongue around the head, tracing the slit in the tip.

The night before, he had been swift to taunt Ignis for all his half-muffled whimpers and moans, Ardyn was suddenly finding it hard to conceal his own sounds of pleasure. He bent the knuckle of one finger and bit down on the back of it, relishing the small lash of pain it created. Threading the other hand into Ignis’ hair, Ardyn drew him slowly forward.

Ignis did not try to resist. He bent over Ardyn, bearing down on him, his mouth opening to take him in. Ardyn felt the head of his cock slip wetly past his teeth, his hard palette, back into the warm clutch of Ignis’ throat. He took his next breath in a shuddering sigh and said, “You like that, don’t you?”

Ignis’ throat vibrated as he made a soft noise of assent; Ardyn could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

Moving carefully so as not to make Ignis think he was pulling away, Ardyn shifted one foot forward and nudged his toe against Ignis’ crotch. Even through the heavy leather of his boots he could feel that Ignis was hard.

“Show me.”

Ignis kept one hand wrapped around the base of Ardyn’s shaft, working it where his mouth did not reach. The other dropped to his belt, fumbling it open to free his straining erection. Ardyn eyed it, watching appreciatively as Ignis shifted on his knees in anticipation.

“Go on,” Ardyn said. “Touch it. Show me how much you want it.”

Ignis hesitated momentarily, then closed his hand around his own cock and began to work it. He leaned back, dragging his lips slowly along Ardyn’s shaft until they slid off the tip.

“Is this to your liking?” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.

“Is it to yours?”

Ignis was silent a moment, his tongue flicking out from between his flushed lips to catch the lingering taste Ardyn’s flesh had imparted upon them.

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not satisfied yet.”

Reaching up, he offered his hand to Ardyn, who helped him to his feet with an elegant flourish. Ignis slipped an arm around his waist, drawing closer. He put his face back so Ardyn could kiss him.

“You want more?” Ardyn said.

Ignis nodded.

“Then say it.”

“You know what I mean,” Ignis said primly. “I wouldn’t want to be crude.”

“By all means,” Ardyn said, feeling a smile come to his lips in spite of himself. “The cruder the better, my demure little king.”

Ignis’ brow furrowed and his lips compressed into a tight line. “Very well. If that is what you desire. I want you to copulate with me.”

Ardyn laughed softly, charmed beyond anything in his long but admittedly sporadic memory. “How can I resist such a tempting offer?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Ignis sniffed. “If you don’t like what I have to say, then perhaps I’ll show you instead.”

He pressed his palms against Ardyn’s shoulders, shoving him back against the wall of the storage shed. Ardyn scarcely had time to catch his breath before Ignis was pressed up against him, kissing him hungry. One had dropped to Ardyn’s hips, palming his cock.

Surprised, pleasantly so, Ardyn took him by the hips. He let Ignis have his fun for another moment, but then tightened his grip, turning Ignis around and reversing their positions. 

Ignis let out a gasp as his shoulder blades struck the wall. He put up no resistance at all, bending to Ardyn’s manipulations as he pinned both of Ignis’ wrists over his head. His other hand went down between their bodies, easing Ignis’ loosened trousers down.

“Take me,” Ignis whispered. “I don’t want to worry and fret any more. I don’t want to be sensible. I just want--”

Ardyn didn’t let him finish. He suddenly seized Ignis by the waist and spun him around so he was facing the wall. Ignis let out a yelp of surprised arousal, bracing his legs further apart, angling his hips back, inviting him in.

It would have been ungentlemanly indeed to disappoint him. Ardyn bent slightly at the knees, and guided his cock to Ignis’ entrance. In a single swift thrust, he entered him.

Ignis let out a hoarse cry, arching his back as if he sought to pull closer and pull away in the same instant. Ardyn did not let him move much more than that, though, bearing down on Ignis with his greater weight and holding him against the wall.

Ardyn continued to move inside him, taking him in hard, merciless strokes. Ignis moaned with each thrust until his cries lapped over and under one another.

“More,” Ignis gasped. His hands were knotted into fists against the wall of the shed, and where his nails dug in they peeled splinters of wood away from the planks. “Have pity, please. I beg you…”

But Ardyn didn’t have much more in him. He was already close, already on the very edge. Sucking in a hissing breath between his teeth, he came.

When Ignis felt the heat inside him, he suddenly went still. He hardly moved at all as Ardyn reached around to take hold of his cock. He began to stroke Ignis slowly, moving his hips a little, sliding inside him while he was still hard.

“Come on,” he crooned in Ignis’ ear. “You can trust me.”

A sobbing breath escaped Ignis’ throat as he came. He went briefly rigid in Ardyn’s arm, and then he abruptly slipped away. He dropped out of Ardyn’s grip so softly and silently that it took Ardyn a long moment to realize that he was now alone on his feet. Ignis had collapsed to his knees; his forehead was pressed against the wall, his eyes downcast and his shoulders bent.

Moving slowly, as if afraid of startling him, of goading him into pulling away again, Ardyn knelt beside him. He could see only a little of Ignis’ face beyond the shadow of his pale hair, but it was enough to know that there were tears in his eyes.

With a sigh, Ardyn slipped an arm around him and pulled him close. “Come now. There’s no need for that.”

“Yes,” Ignis replied, wiping his eyes diffidently. “I know that.”

“As I am now, I’m hardly worth your tears.”

Ignis allowed himself to be drawn into Ardyn’s arms, turning with him. Ardyn settled his back against the wall and then positioned Ignis’s head on his shoulder. He wondered if Ignis was content like that, if it was possible that he could be a comfortable place to rest his head.

“It’s not you,” Ignis replied. “Or at least, not in the way that you’re thinking. But when I’m with you, I can almost forget.”

With a conscientious hand, Ardyn adjusted their clothing, doing their trousers back up. “That sounds familiar.”

“Does it?” Ignis replied. “That cheers me, honestly. Even you should not dwell eternally in the past.”

“Alas,” Ardyn said, “I have so much past to dwell in and so little future to look forward to.”

“Then be in the present.” Ignis kissed his shoulder, the only thing he could reach without moving too much. “With me.”

The words gave Ardyn pause, but he tried not to read too much into them. Hope for the future was a cruel trap, and he knew he could not expect to become anything more than the man he had long proven that he was.

“All right,” he conceded, careful to keep his tone neutral, void of emotion or vulnerability. “For a moment. It would be more comfortable inside, though.”

“I’m comfortable enough.”

“Fine,” Ardyn said. “But I think I’d rather the demons come upon us in this state than the dawn.”

“Another minute,” Ignis murmured into the curve of Ardyn’s shoulder. “That’s all I need, and then I’ll go on.”


	15. Chapter 15

Between his own cunning and Ignis’ circumspection, it did not once occur to Ardyn that they would both fall carelessly asleep out in the open, but somehow, that was exactly what happened. Ignis dropped off first, his head pillowed on Ardyn’s chest, hands half-curled in the hem of his shirt. Ardyn knew he should have awakened him right away, chased him back into the safety of the guardhouse and put an end to this charade. He told himself as much many times, and yet he still didn’t move.

Perhaps it was the promise of another night free of Ifrit’s demands. Better that than the alternative: that he simply did not want to leave Ignis’ side. Whatever the case - cowardly self-preservation or sticky misbegotten romanticism - Ardyn stayed until his eyes grew heavy and then fell shut entirely. 

He awoke to silence, stillness. The light was leaden and gray with the coming of another slow and sluggish dawn. The demons had all retreated for the day, but the birds and insects had not returned. An unearthly quiet had gripped the early morning, as if Ardyn had been abruptly encased in a soundproof globe. He could see the dew glittering on the grass, feel the slight pressure of Ignis’ bent and dozing head on his shoulder, even smell the crispness of the air, but there was not a single sound to give these things breadth and depth.

Presently, one sound did reach his ears: the crunch of heavy boots on gravel, coming rapidly closer.

Ardyn had the presence of mind to reach over and shake Ignis. He came awake slowly, blinking against the cold light, but when he heard the same footfalls, he snapped upright in an instant. 

He was halfway to his feet when the encroaching steps reached the corner of the storage shed behind which they were concealed. Ardyn had an instant to register the look of panic on Ignis’ face, to realize that he recognized the tread as clearly as if it had been a fingerprint, before Gladio rounded the corner.

He stood above them in silence for a moment, looking flatly unimpressed. “I figured it would be something like this,” he said at last. “I didn’t want to believe it, but you just had to keep pushing, didn’t you, Ignis?”

Ignis sprang to his feet, brushing his clothes back into order. It was too late for such flustered gesticulations; there was no hiding what had happened.

“It’s not what you think,” Ignis sputtered out. His hands groped about wildly but he found nothing by which to orient himself. 

Ardyn considered reaching out to steady him, but he didn’t think Ignis would appreciate the gesture. Instead, he got slowly to his feet, eyeing Gladio warily. He’d step in if he had to; this could easily get out of hand.

“I’d love to hear what it’s about,” Gladio said.

“We spoke,” Ignis said. “About the late king. I had to talk to him about Noctis.”

“Don’t bring him into this.” Gladio’s voice rose to take on a commanding tone, and Ignis flinched away from it. “Don’t you dare try to hide behind Noctis again.”

“I loved him,” Ignis said. “The same as you. You know this, my friend.”

“You’re using him,” Gladio snapped back. “To legitimize your claim to the throne, and as a convenient shield for your cowardice.”

The color drained out of Ignis’ face. He folded his arms around himself, bending over them as if he’d been hit. “I’ve been weak, I know this. I’ve been an ineffectual regent. I’ve made mistakes. But I would never dishonor him. He was everything…”

“Not everything,” Gladio said. “Isn’t that why we’re here? He wouldn’t fuck you. No matter how much you pined after him, no matter how much you wished for it, you were always too great a coward to tell him. Now he’s gone, and you’ve proven how weak you really are.”

Ignis seemed to be collapsing back in on himself, growing smaller by degrees with every word. He said nothing; when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Ardyn had become so accustomed to his quiet strength, that to see it wilt before Gladio’s anger was an unpleasant shock.

He didn’t want to watch this anymore. Knowing that it would at least give Gladio a different target for his tirade, he stepped between the two of them. “That’s enough.”

Gladio did not raise his voice, but when he spoke so quietly and calmly it was no less intimidating. “What did you say to me?”

Ardyn’s eyes narrowed. He had to look up to meet Gladio’s gaze, but he refused to be intimidated by his greater height and bulk. “I said, leave him be.”

He didn’t see the fist aimed at his jaw, but he certainly felt it. One moment he was on his feet, facing Gladio down, and the next he flat on his back, staring up at the gray sky. Disoriented, he tried to sit up; his head swam, and he felt the heat of a bruise forming on his jaw.

“Stop it!” Ignis had at last found his voice, and he darted forward to catch hold of Gladio’s arm before he could land the next blow. “My integrity is not compromised, Neither is my honor so long as you keep it in trust, my friend.”

Gladio glared down at him for a long moment, then he jerked his arm away. “Don’t call me that,” he said, turning his back. “We’re ready to go. Bring him, so we can do it.”

“To Niflheim…” Ignis said. There was an edge of desperation to his voice. In spite of everything, he had to be sure. There was still a job to do, a last desperate push to keep the darkness at bay.

“It’s too late to go back,” Gladio said over his shoulder. “You saw to that.”

Then, he was gone. Ardyn picked himself up off the ground and began to dust off his clothing, but then he noticed how unsteady Ignis looked on his feet. 

“Easy,” Ardyn said, catching him around the waist. All the strength rushed out of him and Ignis collapsed against his shoulder, but in the same instant he pushed against him, trying to free himself with the little strength he had left.

“No.” His voice was a dry whisper. “No more, please. Stop this farce. This thing that cannot be, that never really was. It has already cost me enough.”

“Gladio will get over it,” Ardyn said. “He ought to have minded his own business in the first place.”

“You don’t know him,” Ignis replied. “He won’t forget this, won’t forgive it. I was weak. Everything I’ve lost, it was because of my weakness.”

He began to weep silently, turning away so that Ardyn would not see his tears. He bent his arm against the wall and rested his forehead on it. Ardyn was dismayed to see that his shoulders were trembling, and he was slow to reach out and set a hand on his back.

“You were there when I put on the the Ring of Lucii. I don’t remember much, but I do know that. You’re the only one who saw it, the only witness. It was blasphemy to do what I did, to think that the gods would accept me. They took my sight, but they were not content with that. Ever since that moment, I have been cursed. All of this is punishment for my arrogance.”

“That’s not true,” Ardyn said.

Ignis shook his head. It was a wordless denial but no less feverish for its silence.

“Listen to me,” Ardyn pressed on. “There is nothing weak about you. I could see it even back then, as plain as day before me. If the Gods did not want you to wear the damned ring it is only because of some accident of blood. They did not accept you for the same reason that they won’t stop pestering me. It is because of the star you were born under, not your merit or your mettle.”

Taking him by the arms, Ardyn turned him gently. Ignis moved with him, swaying on his feet as if in a dream. His blind eyes were wet and rimmed in red. At the sight of them, Ardyn felt a strange heat in his breast. It was as if a ball of forgotten kindling had suddenly caught a spark and begun to burn with a comforting and familiar warmth.

“You have lost much, haven’t you?” Ardyn said quietly. “You press on, so calmly and boldly, it did not occur to me until this very moment.”

“Please,” Ignis said. “No pity, no sympathy. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I can’t give you back what you really want,” Ardyn said. “But I can do something. That ancient iteration of me, that man I once was, let him help you.”

“I don’t understand,” Ignis said, and Ardyn had to admit he wasn’t entirely sure that he did either. It was as if something was moving within him, moving through him. Urging him to lean forward and press his lips against Ignis’.

Though they had kissed many times before, this was different. Ardyn felt it at once, deep inside himself; the small flame he had nursed within seemed to catch and blaze to hot and brilliant life.

There was a hint of something cold on Ignis’ lips, a trace of darkness lingering on his skin. It moved like iron fillings following a magnet, seeping into Ardyn’s waiting mouth. Slow at first, a trickle of cold blackness. Then, all at once, a great torrent, as if a dam that Ignis had erected inside himself to keep the darkness at bay had given way in an instant.

Ardyn dutifully drew it out of him, though it was not the scourge as he had come to know it, not the curse that had afflicted so many all those centuries ago. This darkness was self-inflicted; it was all the pain and horror that Ignis had carried inside, all the trauma of the Long Night that he had not dared to speak of or even feel too intensely. Ardyn felt a sharp pain at his temples, but the healing was mercifully silent. It did not mark him as the demons once had.

As the initial flood of darkness began to taper off, Ardyn let the fire inside him blaze up and wash over them, a cleansing flame that purified as it consumed.

When he at last let Ignis go and leaned back, he could see the difference already. The white sheen that clouded over Ignis’ eyes had begun to dissipate.

“What was that?” Ignis said, dismayed. His hand flew to his face, feeling the flesh around his eyes. “What have you done?”

“Look at me,” Ardyn replied. “Keep looking.”

He took Ignis’ chin gently in his hand, keeping Ignis’ face turned towards his as his vision began to clear. Light first, then shapes and shadows, and then, in time, a clear picture began to resolve.

“I can see you,” Ignis whispered. He lifted a trembling hand, running it along Ardyn’s stubbled jaw, past his lips. “It’s really you.”

Ardyn couldn’t help but smile. “What do you think?”

“You’re handsome,” Ignis replied, but then his cheeks flushed. “Why have you done this? What do you want?”

“I thought it was a little more impressive than that,” Ardyn replied. “That it might warrant at least a moment’s wonder, rather than suspicion.”

“Thank you.” Ignis leaned in, kissing him suddenly. “This can only be the power of Insomnia’s great sage. But you have defied the will of the Astral gods…”

“Then the defiance is mine,” Ardyn said. Now that he had restored Ignis’ eyes to their original gray, he found he could not look away from them. “And you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it. You’re right, you have had a terrible time. This one thing can be better.”

“Ardyn.” Ignis’ brow creased slightly. “I don’t understand. Who are you, really?”

Though he knew he shouldn’t, Ardyn laughed. The fire inside him was fading quickly, and the laughter seemed to echo around the emptiness it left in its wake.

“You ask that as if I know the answer. As if I have ever known.”

“How can that be?”

Ardyn hesitated. He knew that he should not speak of the past if speaking could do nothing but cause all of them pain. All the same, he felt himself urged on. The fire was only embers now, but he could still remember its warmth. In the light that it had so briefly shed, all he had forgotten was briefly illuminated.

“For so long,” he began, “I have been all of them. Not as they really were, but as a distortion. A reflection as glimpsed in black and flawed glass.”

He was aware of Ignis’ eyes riveted to his face. The bright intensity of his restored eyes was unsettling.

“The powers of the sage were a gift, but they came with conditions. I thought accepting them was enough, but it was never just about me…” 

***

In the time when the plague of demons was at its height, Ardyn was often away from the capital. It had been a long time since the comfortable and complacent citizens who dwelled safe within the city walls had taken notice of his comings and goings. These days, he preferred to travel without fanfare, bringing along only a light escort when he went escorted at all. 

Eudoxia often went with him, but there were times when the reports that reached him were very dire, and on those occasions Ardyn ordered her to stay behind and continue her studies. He had not yet shown her the full extent of the plague’s black heart; she wasn’t ready for it.

If she was unhappy with the arrangement, Eudoxia rarely let it show. She was always waiting for him when he returned from the wilderness, though this time there was something else waiting for him too.

It was an invitation from the king, requesting Ardyn’s presence at his table for dinner. The seal was conspicuously broken, the papers rifled but refolded with this utmost care. Eudoxia brought him wine and prepared a bath just as she always did, but she went through the well-worn steps with an expectant look on her face.

“You wish to meet my illustrious brother?” Ardyn asked. “You could have just asked me to arrange an audience.”

“An invitation from His Majesty is more fitting,’ she replied. “It’s less than you deserve for all that you do for this kingdom.”

“I don’t do it for a reward.”

“Neither do I,” Eudoxia said. “But I won’t pretend I don’t appreciate the perks. Of course, if you’re very tired we will send our regrets.”

“And you will be disappointed.”

Eudoxia laughed. “I’ll be so disappointed, and I’ll take it all out on you. I’ll make you absolutely miserable.”

Though Ardyn knew there had never really been a choice, he preferred it this way. Better the illusion that he was wrapped around Eudoxia’s finger, a slave to her whims and ambitions, than the truth: he was at the pleasure of his brother. He could no more refuse the king’s invitation than he could shirk his duty as sage.

There really was no choice; it was secure in this knowledge that Ardyn was able to take his place at his brother’s right hand that evening. The king was seated on a raised dais, well above the other guests in attendance. Though it annoyed Ardyn immensely to look up at him, he kept finding his eyes drawn to Lucius’ face. 

They looked nothing alike; no one would ever take them for siblings.His brother was fine-boned, elegant, with pale skin and dark hair. He was younger than Ardyn by a dozen years, though he did not exactly look it. Lucius had always been possessed of an deathless serenity that made it impossible to guess his real age. 

When the formal dinner had ended and the guests withdrew from the table, Lucius set his hand on Ardyn’s arm. “Stay back a moment, brother. We’ll retire to my study.”

Without meaning to, Ardyn glanced toward Eudoxia, who was deep in conversation with the dashing captain of the civil guard. Noting the direction of his gaze, Lucius said, “Bring the lady as well. I’m curious to meet this promising young student of yours.”

It was with a distinct feeling of dread that Ardyn retrieved Eudoxia and followed his brother. 

They had never made any promises to each other; Eudoxia had made it clear from the start that Ardyn would not be her only lover. He had accepted that, even welcomed it, yet as he felt her grip his hand hard in anticipation of a private audience with the king, he could not shake the feeling that this time would be different.

Lucius had a way with people. She would fall under his spell just like the rest of them had. It would be nothing to his brother to ruin what they had, to take her from him. He might do it with no malice at all, scarcely even realizing that it was happening. Such was the power of the king.

They were led them into a private room and shut the door against the courtiers. Though the decor was rather spartan and severe, one corner had been arranged with cushions and curtains and a lamp that burned with a low and flattering light. Lucius sat, arranging his court robes around himself. Ardyn took the place across from him, with Eudoxia curled up at his side.

“I hope you’ll do me the honor of sharing another drink with me,” Lucius said. He poured wine with his own hand, gracefully holding back his trailing sleeves. 

Ardyn watched, growing increasingly uneasy as the king served him. At last, he ground out, “You don’t have to do that.” 

He started forward with an abortive gesture, meaning to take the wine from him and not quite doing so. Succeeding only in upsetting one of the glasses so its contents splashed over the table.

Lucius caught the glass before it could spill, setting it to right once more. “Nonsense,” he said evenly, as if he had not been interrupted. “Your presence here honors me. And besides, I wanted to see you. Both of you.”

“I don’t know what I can contribute to this family meeting,” Eudoxia said, accepting the glass Lucius handed her. If she was nervous about being in the presence of the king, it did not show in her face or her manner. “Though perhaps His Majesty will favor me with some stories about what Lord Ardyn was like as a child.”

Lucius smiled at her. “Alas, I know very few.”

“We weren’t raised together,” Ardyn put in quickly. “His Majesty’s mother was a princess of the realm.”

“By the time I was old enough to remember, his gift had already been made manifest. He had other duties to attend to. Of course, at the time, we thought he was the only one. It was a stroke of good fortune that we found you.”

“In theory,” Eudoxia said. “But to tell you the truth, I haven’t had much cause to use this gift at all.”

“Then perhaps I was misinformed,” Lucius said, as though he did not have spies in every corner of the palace. “The rumor mill is abuzz with talk of your great talent.”

“Do you listen to rumors, my lord?” Eudoxia’s eyes were fixed on the king’s face, without hesitation or the slightest hint of nerves. She stayed curled against Ardyn’s side, but her full attention was focused on his brother.

“Perhaps it is beneath my station,” Lucius replied with a smile. “However, it benefits me to know the inner workings of my realm.”

“Then you should know how your brother shields me from the slings and arrows of the world.”

Lucius turned to him, fixing Ardyn with his steel eyes. “You would protect all the world, my brother. But you can’t protect this young woman from her destiny. Her talents are a gift from the Astral gods, and to deny them is tantamount to heresy.”

Ardyn’s eyes narrowed. “It is easy for you to make grand pronouncements. But you don’t understand the situation. She’s not ready.”

To his surprise, Eudoxia laughed. “He scolds you for passing judgement, and yet he’s always saying things like that. Has he always been so self-impressed?”

“He has only ever been the most noble of men: one who is determined to take all the hardships of others upon himself. Come, brother, tell us what all the trouble is.”

“Yes, do tell us,” Eudoxia said. There was a low note of humor in her voice; she was enjoying all the mischief she was making, not to mention her collusion with the king.

Feeling utterly outmatched, Ardyn sighed and relented. He had wanted Eudoxia to practice her gift a while longer, without the burden of the truth falling upon her. It seemed that it was not to be. Perhaps he owed her the whole story. The king as well, for that matter. As much as it irritated him that his brother should be privy to his secret weaknesses and vulnerabilities, Lucius always found out in the end.

“The truth is, those demons I banish do not go quietly. They sink their claws deep into their hosts, and when they are torn free something comes with them: the darkest detritus from the shadowy corners of the soul. Everyone has something that they dream about that is outside the bounds of civilization. In the instant when the plague is transferred to me, I can see all: their deepest secrets, the depraved fantasies that they hide even from themselves. I know what humanity is like under the veneer of civilization, and it is that knowledge that I would protect you from.”

Eudoxia was quiet for what seemed a long time. Ardyn did not dare look in her direction; he raised his wine and drank deeply to avoid meeting her eyes.

It was Lucius who spoke at last, “Perhaps these visions are the demons’ tricks. I’ve heard they have a rudimentary intelligence.”

“No,” Ardyn replied calmly. “I know them to be true, though not the entirety of the truth. They are but one small fragment, not representative of the whole human spirit.”

“How can you be so sure?” Eudoxia said suddenly. Ardyn was so startled by her voice that he almost jumped.

“Because I must be. I must believe that people are still good, so that I can continue to perform this task that the Astral gods, in all their wisdom, have set for me.”

“You healed my parents, once,” Eudoxia said, her voice very quiet and grave. “What were their secrets?”

“I don’t know,” Ardyn said, too quickly for it to have sounded anything but false. “I don’t remember.”

If he had thought on the matter, perhaps it would have come to him, but that was the last thing he had wanted. Since coming to the palace, Eudoxia had not spoken once of the family she had left behind in the provinces, and it was not like this that she should be reminded of those unhappy days.

The way she was looking at him now, though, made it obvious that she neither believed his denials nor appreciated his chivalry.

“I beg you not to take my brother’s reticence personally,” Lucius said. “He does not speak easily of his vulnerabilities. It says much about his feelings for you that he has told us anything at all.”

“I know that,” Eudoxia replied thoughtfully. Ardyn could feel her watching him in a different way than she had a moment ago. “Though I wish I had known that about you.”

She reached to set her hand over his. It was an affectionate gesture that she might have performed a thousand times before, this iteration seemed more like pity. Ardyn felt his very being revolt at the notion. He jerked away from her, sweeping to his feet. Though he tried not to look back, he did catch a glimpse of Eudoxia’s face, and the look of pained shock imprinted upon it.

“I’m retiring for the evening,” Ardyn announced, feeling that even the act of making an excuse would only serve to shame him more. “Stay as long as you like.”

He took his leave, painfully aware that neither Eudoxia nor Lucius had risen to follow him. He was leaving them alone together. Alone, to talk of him and then, as the night wore on, of things more intimate still. What came after that was inevitable now.

*** 

“Why?” Ignis said abruptly. 

His eyes had not once left Ardyn’s face. It was with his habitual ease and grace that he had adapted to having his sight restored. The wonders of the newly-visible world could wait until later; for the moment, he had the whole of his attention focused on Ardyn, the whole of his intellect directed at the thorny heart of his tale.

“Why?” Ardyn echoed. “What do you mean?”

“Why was it inevitable?”

“Because of my brother,” Ardyn said. “The Chosen King. He was destined to unite the temple and state, to build a great empire. And I was chosen only to dwell in the darkness, amongst the demons.”

Ignis shook his head. “You never asked her, never gave her a chance.”

“It was the will of the Astral gods.”

“No,” Ignis said. “I can’t believe that. I cannot accept that there was no choice for you, for her, for any of us. It is true that the the gods are capricious, that their will is often ineffable, but we all still have a choice.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Ardyn said coldly. He started to turn away, but all at once Ignis’ arms were around his neck, refusing to let him go. Ardyn resisted for a moment, but eventually allowed Ignis to turn him back.

“Was it only the will of the gods when you saved my life outside the palace? Was that, too, preordained?”

Ardyn sighed. “Of course not. I healed you because I wanted to. Because I knew I needed you.”

“Then there are still choices to be made,” Ignis said, his voice even and measured and utterly reasonable. Ardyn found it immensely annoying, though in the same moment it calmed him. “The gods command much, but not all.”

When he saw that Ardyn’s temperament had settled, Ignis relaxed his grip on his neck. He moved his hands upward, dragging his fingers through unkempt red hair, pushing it back from Ardyn’s face.

“It was a heavy burden you had to bear,” Ignis said. “I see that now. Knowing men’s darkest desires, I can only imagine.”

“That wasn’t…” Ardyn shook his head fiercely. “That had nothing to do with it. There were conditions associated with my gift. I made peace with them. No one is defined by their worst moment, or their darkest thought. I told myself that then, and, despite what you may think you know about me, I still believe it now.”

“And yet all those horrors were inside you,” Ignis said. “When you turned your back on your brother, when you rejected your acolyte. You were thinking of those wicked impulses then, weren’t you?”

“No,” Ardyn said, knowing that he was not particularly convincing. “I never thought that of them.”

“And I say that you must have,” Ignis replied. “Without ever intending it or being consciously aware that it was happening.”

“Then I suppose you know best,” Ardyn snorted. “I suppose you know everything about me, my clever boy.”

“I know more than you give me credit for,” Ignis said. “I know that you cast about blindly in your grief, hurting those who only wish you well. I know, too, that it is because you are afraid. But listen, Ardyn, to one more thing that I know: if those people you saved all those long centuries ago were not defined by their worst and most evil impulses, then neither are you.”

Ardyn knew that he looked skeptical. Ignis read the expression on his face clearly, and he stood a little taller on his toes, pressing a kiss to Ardyn’s brow.

“You’ll do the right thing. I trust you.”

His gaze drifted past Ardyn’s shoulder, to where Gladio had just finished gassing up the car for the next leg of the journey.

“Give the matter some thought,” he went on. “There is still a little time left. When the moment comes, you should go without regrets, knowing that you saved a world worthy of your sacrifice. Now, let’s get back on the road. I think it’s going to be a long day.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back! Work got in the way, etc. But I'm still pretty committed to finishing this before the DLC comes out and contradicts all my backstory. If anyone's still out there, thanks for sticking around.

The second day out from the palace was somehow more excruciating than the first. The silence that had once only been awkward had become oppressive. Gladio sat taciturn and steely-jawed in the front seat, his eyes not once straying from the road. He had the attitude of a man deep in thought, though Ardyn had the sinking feeling that his musings did not extend much beyond all the blunt and brutish ways he might go about avenging his regent’s errant honor.

He hadn’t even commented on Ignis’ restored sight. That more than anything else Ardyn deemed cause for concern. It made him wonder who, precisely, Gladio intended to vent his fury upon. He could glower and bluster in Ardyn’s direction all he like, as long as he didn’t decide to turn on Ignis. 

For all his efforts to remain aloof and disinterested in the hard and desperate struggles of those left behind after his confrontation with Noctis, Ardyn was acutely aware of how long Ignis had endured in silence. Much had been taken from him, and he did not need to lose Gladio’s esteem as well. It was getting a little ridiculous, and not at all fun to watch.

There was one way to make it right, Ardyn was sure of that. If he were only dead, his head bent over the sacrificial altar like a good little beast, then the rest of them would be satisfied, even at peace.

The idea unsettled him. Though it had been a long time since Ardyn had cared much whether he lived or died, his ancient wounded pride rebelled at the thought of conveniencing so many. If he only went quietly, without a struggle, then the world would breathe a sigh of relief and continue on as if he had never existed.

In the heavy silence that pressed down on them as the day went on, Ardyn could not help but dwell on the notion. He saw how it would happen, as clearly as if it had already played out before him: the way they would all relax the moment he was gone, the way they would congratulate themselves on a job well done. Even Ignis might let slip a smile.

In the confines of the car, Ardyn snuck a glance in the regent’s direction. The tight and guarded look on his face was far from the one he had worn in Ardyn’s imagination, and yet it seemed that look of relief was only scarcely concealed.

Ardyn let his eyes slip away from Ignis’ expression, down his body to his tightly-pressed knees. His legs were thin, shapely, and yet Ardyn knew that they were also strong. For all the different ways Ardyn had taken him, he’d never felt them wrapped around him. He wondered what it would feel like. Perhaps Ignis would hold him close, his lovely thighs tightening like a vice as he was pushed closer to climax. Or maybe he would keep his elegant poise, crossing his ankles at the small of Ardyn’s back and scarcely touching him with the rest.

Yes, that was better. Quite the improvement over the alternative. Ardyn allowed his mind to wander, his gaze averted in Ignis’ direction though hidden behind his lashes.

Ignis, for his part, did not so much as glance in Ardyn’s direction. He was staring out the window, watching the countryside slide by, transfixed by the blur of colors and forms. No less enchanted than he had been when he had looked into Ardyn’s face that morning, but Ardyn could not find it in himself to be jealous. Ignis had been without his sight for a long time, and there was doubtlessly a part of him that feared it would be snatched away from him again, at any moment.

It was Prompto that spotted them first, from his unhappy an unenviable perch in the front seat: A collection of dark, shapeless forms were scattered along the sides of the road. Even in the full light of day, it was impossible at first to tell what they were. Propto allowed the first few to go by in silence, but eventually he was forced to let out a timid, “Um?”

Ignis looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion. The dark shapes were more frequent now, sometimes alone and sometimes in clusters. A sweet-sick smell had started to seep into the car, seeming to cling to their clothes and coat their skin.

“What is that?” Prompto bit out. His voice was high, strained. He my not have known yet what surrounded them on the road, but he could tell that it was terribly wrong.

Gladio did not respond, but the hard knots at the hinges of his jaw shifted as he clenched his teeth hard and put his foot down on the accelerator so they sped up. But as he came around a bend in the road, he slammed the brakes on once more. 

A great heap of those dark shapes obstructed the road. As the vehicle slid to a halt, it was at last possible to see what they were. It seemed that the demons the night before had come upon a flock of livestock and set upon them with impunity. There were perhaps two hundred sheep and goats, half that many cattle, a handful of horses. All torn to shreds and left to rot. 

They would not have stood a chance, not against those beasts that stalked the shadows. Doubtlessly the scourge had come on so suddenly that the shepherds who kept them had not even had a chance to bring the animals in out of the dark.

Gladio tapped the accelerator again, inching the car past the corpses piled in the road. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, making no indication that he saw the carnedge. Prompto did not look either. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, waiting until the nightmare scene was past.

Only Ignis did not turn away. He had gone back to the window, staring out of it with the same composed and unreadable expression as before, determined to see everything with equal clarity.

Tears formed in his eyes. He blinked them back, and Ardyn knew that it was by will alone he did not let them fall.

Keeping an eye on the front seat to ensure that Prompto and Gladio were still busy ignoring them, Ardyn reached out and set his hand over Ignis’. He heard him suck in a sharp, startled breath. Then he turned his hand in Ardyn’s grip, lacing their fingers together for a brief moment, before he pushed the support away.

***

They saw little else in the way of civilization that day. What farmsteads and settlements there were this far past the frontier had the look of being hastily abandoned. Whether they had been surrendered during the Long Night or in the wake of this most recent crisis it was impossible to say.

There were no other vehicles on the road, and Gladio pushed their car to the limits while they still had the daylight. They sped down the empty highway, making up for lost time.

By the time the sun had dipped dangerously low in the sky, they were at the foot of the mountains that delineated Insomnia from Niflheim.

“It’s here,” Ardyn said. No one had spoken in so long that his voice sounded strange to his own ears. “The Temple of Ifrit is in these hills.”

“Then we’ll camp here for the night,” Gladio said. “And in the morning I’ll take you to it. There won’t be any more favors, or any more distractions. Just you, and the blade that’s waiting for you, and the Astral Gods..”

Ardyn’s eyes narrowed, but he did not reply. He neither wanted to dignify Gladio’s threat by assenting to it, or risk riling him up by arguing. Let him bide his time, then, and they would both see what would happen.

They stopped in the crumbling ruins of a gas station to spend the night. Though the roof on one side of the building had long since collapses, the opposite end was still in decent repair and there were still traces of some of the old magical wards around the building. As soon as they had stopped, Ignis climbed out of the car without a word and set to work rebuilding the glyphs.

Ardyn hesitated only a moment before moving to help him. The old purification magic of the sages had been working within him for some time now; he might as well put them to use.

He had thought Ignis would find it thoughtful, even charming, but he did not s much glance in Ardyn’s direction. “Let us not overthink things,” he said quietly, looking down at the glyph glowing slowly to life beneath his hands. “Let us not make the situation more complicated than it has to be.”

“Is that what we have been doing?” Ardyn replied mildly. He found one of the decayed glyphs with his fingers. He followed the old lines exactly, without so much as looking at them. The spell came to him naturally; while Ignis was still placing his first marking, Ardyn had already finished up the next.

“I fear that I have,” Ignis said quietly. “I can’t make sense of things; my thoughts refuse to cohere. I only want this to be over, so things can go back to the way they were.”

Ardyn’s hands stumbled over the task, turning one of the lines on the glyph wavy and weak. His expression remained neutral, though, and the tone of his voice did not change. “It will be easier when I am dead, you mean. You might as well just come out and say it.”

“It’s not what I mean,” Ignis said fiercely. “You must know by now how I feel about you. But the matter has been decided without us. We don’t have to like it; we only must accept that this world is still worth saving.”

“You still believe that?” Ardyn said. “After all that has happened, all that you have endured, you still want the world to continue along its blithe and oblivious path? Selfishly devouring all that you care for--”

“Stop it,” Ignis said.

“I know that people underestimate you. I thought, once, that I had made the same fatal error. But the only mistake I made was in thinking that your stubborn willingness to endure was the same as strength. In fact, I see how cowardly and weak you really are. How willing to be swept along on the tide, too timid to make so much as a single ripple in protest.”

“Stop!” Ignis almost shouted. “Do you think this tantrum of yours will change a thing? You cast about in your pain and fear, looking for the words to drive me away. But I will be with you until the end, whether you like it or not.”

“Fine,” Ardyn replied. “Do whatever you like. But don’t think I expect any favors from you.”

Ignis sighed, turning at last away from his work and looking at Ardyn. “What’s gotten into you? Do we really have to spend our last few hours bickering like this?”

“No,” Ardyn admitted. “I suppose not. But I honestly can’t think of anything else.”

Ignis’ lips tightened, not with the irritation Ardyn had expected but with something more akin to sympathy. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Ardyn stole a glance at him from beneath his lashes. He had not wanted Ignis to know what had been troubling him, wishing to retain at least that much dignity for himself. But the way Ignis was looking at him now, with his tired, sympathetic, penetrating eyes was a weapon against which Ardyn had no defence. 

“I don’t want to go through with it,” Ardyn said. “I don’t want to die like this.”

He saw Ignis suck in a deep breath, but he said nothing at first.

“It’s not fair,” Ardyn went on, feeling that the words were now being wrenched out of him. “All my life, the gods have made demands of me. Even the powers of the sage were gifted me only so they could later be turned against me. I’ve thought many times that I could simply refuse to play the part they have written for me.”

“And will you?” Ignis asked, his voice carefully free of accusation. He was not passing judgement; he was simply gathering all the facts.

“Perhaps” he said. “If I can escape Gladio’s heavy hand. But even if I cannot, do not think I will go quietly or without protest.”

Ignis appraised him in silence for another moment, before he reached out and stroked the backs of his fingers over Ardyn’s cheek. “I had no idea,” he said. “Truly, I did not know that you have suffered like this for so long.”

“Of course not,” Ardyn replied. “You think everyone can be as effortlessly and infuriatingly good as you are. That it must come naturally even to the most lowly of us.”

“Not everyone,” Ignis said. “But I did see the good in you.”

He leaned over and abruptly pressed a dry kiss to Ardyn’s lips. “You’ve given me much to think about,” he said, pushing to his feet. “I should get dinner started. Tend to the wards. Make sure they’re secure. Keep us safe tonight and I’m sure everything will work out for the best.”

Ardyn had no chance to respond. Ignis turned on his heels and hurried off. Ardyn watched him go, turning his words over in his mind. He did not give them much credence. Ignis could make all the promises he wanted, and he might have the best of intentions with them, but there was very little he could do to stop what was to come.

***

Ignis didn’t come to him that night, though Ardyn waited up longer than was entirely dignified. At last, sure that he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon, he pushed back the blankets and sat up.

He felt restless, but without direction. If these really were to be his last few hours on earth, then it seemed like he ought to be using them to their utmost. But at that moment, he could think of nothing he wanted to do and not a single thing he could say. Even his prayers to the Astral Gods slipped his mind.

Instead, he rose silently and slipped out of the makeshift shelter, though he was careful to stay within the boundary of the camp.

The night was very dark, and beyond the faint blue glow of the magical wards, he couldn’t see much of anything. The sounds of demons blundering and crashing through the undergrowth reached him from the shadows. He imagined them all rushing to press their faces against the glass, to catch a glimpse of him as if he were a sideshow curiosity.

They were all called to him, and without him they would have no cause to stay. Ardyn took some comfort in that; at least the twisted creatures of the scourge would notice when he was gone. It seemed to him that practically no one else would.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, gazing out into the darkness, imagining the demons gathering in his wake. All he would have to do would be pass through the wards and he could be among them. They would not honor him as one of their own, but through their teeth and their claws they would certainly show him how much he meant to them. Ardyn was tempted to do it, to end it all in the spray of blood and the crunching of bone, just so Gladio and all the rest of them would know that he had not let them win.

Then he thought of the way Ignis had looked at the broken bodies of the livestock earlier that day. His pitiful need to see everything, bear witness to it all. If there was anything left of Ardyn after the demons were done with them, he didn’t want Ignis to see it. He did not want to be an object of his sympathy or his grief.

Well and acutely aware that Ignis had interceded on his behalf yet again, Ardyn turned to go back inside. 

Surely the boy had his reasons for not coming to Ardyn’s bed that night, but Ardyn was not about to let him get away with it. They would only get one last chance, and he had every intention of making it count. Moving stealthily, he circled around the room until he found Ignis’ bedroll. The blankets were bunched around him, pulled over his head in an attempt to block out the noise. Ardyn was grudgingly charmed by the childlike effect.

As he knelt beside the bedroll, Ignis did not move at all. He was sleeping soundly indeed; he must have been very tired. Fully intending to keep him awake for as long as necessary, Ardyn set a hand over the spot where Ignis’ thigh should have been beneath the blankets. Instead of the delicate firmness of Ignis’ body, he encountered only the soft give of heaped-up blankets. Frowning, Ardyn moved his hand upward, feeling for Ignis’ body beneath the covers and finding nothing but a bundle of pillows and sheets.

Ardyn felt his throat tighten, his stomach twisting itself into knots. Knowing already what he would find, he raked the blankets away and discovered Ignis’ bed empty, the sheets stone cold.

He knew in an instant that Ignis had not slept here tonight. And if he was not here, there was only one place that he could have gone. Ardyn could feel his heart pounding, its steady throb growing faster and more urgent as the horrible truth dawned on him: Ignis had slipped out silently, without a word or a moment’s hesitation. He was going to the shrine in the mountains, to enact some foolhardy and futile plan. Ardyn could not imagine what he hoped to accomplish, but he knew that he would only succeed in getting himself killed. 

He glanced back over his shoulder to where Gladio and Prompto slept unaware. They could not know, for they would not understand and would only blame him for Ignis’ idiocy.

In an instant, Ardyn was decided. He rose swiftly and swept back outside into the waiting night. Again, the demons stirred in response to his presence, but he thought that if he moved quickly enough he might stay ahead of them. He had stared down the darkness in the past, too many times to count. Once more would not make much of a difference.

Steeling himself, Ardyn stepped past the wards and into the waiting night. Scarcely stopping to get his bearings, he broke into a run.


	17. Chapter 17

Even in the dark, he found his way with ease. Ardyn had been here enough times over the centuries, he could have found his way to Ifrit’s shrine under even the most dire of circumstances, and these certainly counted as dire enough.

Just outside of camp, the path took a sharp turn upward. There were ancient stone stairs carved into the rock, relics of a time when the shrine was more than a guidebook curiosity. As soon as Ardyn set foot on the first of them and began the climb, he heard the sounds of the demons on his heels slow and recede.

They were not backing off, but they were keeping their distance. Something held them back - a force even more potent than their lust for his blood - but they had no intention of retreating entirely. There was no going back the way he had come.

The entrance to the shrine was notched into the rocky terrain near the crest of the hill. From the outside, it looked small and unassuming, a natural cave that went back perhaps three or four feet into the mountain. Ardyn had to bend his head to enter, and twist his way around a bend in the narrow passage. 

He wondered if Ignis had really made it this far on his own, if he had pushed through without getting tripped up by second thoughts or common sense. It scarcely seemed like the Ignis that he and come to know, and yet when he had wriggled his way into the first chamber and the cave opened up around him, Ardyn knew that he was not the first to come this way.

Feeling along the wall, he found the niche where the spirit lanterns were kept. They were made like torches, but with smooth crystalline bulbs on the ends. When Ardyn’s fingers brushed past one, a blue light flickered in its depths and then glowed to steady life.

Ardyn took down the light, sweeping it in a slow arc to illuminate the path ahead. The darkness of the cave was absolute and deep; the light seemed reluctant to penetrate it, showing the way only a few steps ahead.

One of the sconces in the wall was empty; the spirit lantern that it should have held was gone, but not for so long that a scum of crypt dust had settled over the spot. Ignis must have taken it, Ardyn thought, and good that he had. The blue glow of the lanterns had similar properties to the wards they used to protect their camps. It would hold at bay whatever demons and creatures had made their nests in the black depths of the shrine; it would keep them back, at least for a little while.

He paused at the altar near the entrance, caked with the mouldering wax of votive candles. The offerings had long-since turned to rot; no one had been here in a long time and Niflheim had not bothered to maintain it. Theirs was a thoroughly secular society, one that had turned from the eminence of the gods to the ingenuity of man. As ancient shards of pottery crunched beneath Ardyn’s boots, he could not help but wonder if Ifrit had not long since departed, reducing these sacred caverns to cold and anonymous stone.

As Ardyn paused to inspect the altar, he found some of the dust disturbed, brushed away in narrow trails, carved by the long fingers of an untrembling hand. It could only have been Ignis. He had known at once that this sanctuary was just the facade that they showed the common people; the true mysteries of the tomb lay much deeper.

His hand went to his throat, seeking the medallion that should have hung there. It was missing, of course. Like so much else refuse and detritus, it had not made the trip back from the other side. Ardyn’s fingers passed over the spot several times, as if he could not comprehend its emptiness.

The words of the old incantation came to his lips: “Ifrit, Lord of War, grant your servant a good death.”

It was probably just his imagination, but he felt it then. That ancient power coursing through the still-sacred halls, it was faint but unmistakable. It urged Ardyn on, past the altar and into the winding tunnels beyond. 

The ground dropped off sharply after a few feet, descending steeply and steadily into the earth. The walls glittered in the light from his torch; they were marked by deep horizontal grooves and studded with large obsidian crystals, as smooth as glass and with bladed edges that did not dull no matter how much time passed. When the passage curved abruptly, Ardyn brushed against one of the blades and it tore cleanly through his sleeve, drawing blood. He jerked away, upsetting the spirit lantern and losing his grip on it. As soon as it was no longer in contact with his hand, the light flickered and went out.

The bitter taste of copper flooded his mouth, and Ardyn felt his heart grow cold with terror. He froze where he was, hearing over the rush of blood in his head, the sound of the lantern striking the cave floor and rolling away into the impenetrable darkness. It would have been very easy to panic then, but he rooted himself to the stone floor. He had spent long enough in the darkness; he wasn’t going to lose himself to fear now.

Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees and fanned out his hands, exploring the stone floor. The sound of his pulse beating in his head was very loud. At first, it was the only thing he could hear, but then he became aware of another sound.

It was the whisper of air moving, soft and low but unmistakable in the stillness of the passage. Ardyn felt a chill grip his spine, the muscles in his shoulders contract so tightly that they throbbed. He felt again his body urging him to panic, his mind poised to shut down in a storm of blind and savage terror.

Ardyn resisted it, that utterly human impulse to fear. Mortality had never gotten him anywhere, never gotten him anything.

But it had gotten him Ignis.

The name cut through the haze of fear that had engulfed his mind. All at once, and with perfect clarity, Ardyn remembered why he was here. It was as if a light had appeared before his eyes, illuminating his way.

He swept his hands over the floor, searching for his dropped torch. He moved slowly, systematically, covering every inch that he could reach. Behind him, the whispered breathing began to take on a lilting quality, resolving into a hum. The sound was soft, feminine, even nice somehow.

It sang quietly, as if to itself, in the clear voice of a young woman.

_Down in the willow garden  
there me and my love did meet_

Ardyn stretched forward further on his hands and knees, feeling along the stone floor. The soft, sweet, lovely voice drifted ever closer, and with it the terrible stench of death and rot.

_I drew a sabre through her  
it was an awful sight_

He still had not found the torch, but the creature with the maiden’s voice had not found him, either. Perhaps it was blind down here; perhaps it had spent its entire long existence blind, never knowing what sight was like. If that was true, then he could elude it with a little cunning.

Shifting carefully on his knees, Ardyn edged forward, feeling further down the tunnel. He had to move silently.

_My race is run beneath the sun  
the scaffold waits for me_

Ardyn stretched forward again, but this time he felt the gravel shift beneath his knee. His body slid to the side, barely off-balance but enough that the dirt beneath him scraped harshly.

_For I did--_

The soft voice broke off abruptly. Ardyn heard it suck in another breath, which rattled in its throat like stones in a misshapen coffer.

Then it bellowed: A banshee’s shriek that rattled the walls and showered ancient dust down on Ardyn from above. Waves of decay washed over him, coating his throat, making him gag. He expelled his breath in a retching cough as he lunged away from the sound, the stench, the horrible thing behind them.

As he scrambled to his feet, he felt something smooth and round beneath his fingers. The torch, at last. Ardyn made a desperate grab for it, his hand slipping once, twice, and then fastening tight around the handle.

He had just enough time to drag it back to him, clutching it to his breast, before an iron grip fastened around his ankle.

Again, that deafening cry, shaking the walls of the cave and rattling his heart in his breast. It was right behind him now, right on top of him. He tried to turn, to bring the torch to bear, but he didn’t get a chance. In an instant, the creature had jerked him back, dragging him after it as it retreated into the twisted passages of the cave.

Ardyn had the presence of mind to keep hold of his light with one hand, and with the other he desperately groped for a handhold. Sharp obsidian blades slashed at him from the walls and floor, cutting deep enough to draw blood. Once he was able to grab hold of one, but his hand slipped right off, leaving most of the skin from his palm behind with it.

Then, without warning, the ground fell out from beneath him. He continued to fly backwards for an instant, carried by the creature’s vicious, starved momentum, but then he was falling. Falling, without knowing how far, or what lay below him.

He didn’t feel his body hit the ground, but from one heartbeat to the next the blackness of the cave was subsumed by another blackness, no deeper but by far more absolute.

***

When he awoke, the darkness surrounding him was absolute and impenetrable, an utter absence of light to which the eye would never adjust. Ardyn’s first thought was that he could only be dead, but the sharp pain in his head quickly convinced him otherwise.

He pressed a shaky hand to his temple, and his palm came away damp with a hot stain that must have been blood. The fingers of the other hand were cramped into a fist, and when he flexed them one by one he realized that they were still clutching the spirit lantern. Somehow he’d managed to hold onto it, the whole way down. He began to fumble along the shaft of the torch and when the lamp flickered to life it was sudden and bright enough to blind him.

Blinking furiously, shielding shielded his eyes against the white light that flashed before them, Ardyn swept the torch in a slow arc. It did little to penetrate the darkness around him; he was in a large cavern; the ceiling he had fallen through towered high above him. 

The floor was littered with fragments of bone.

Ardyn saw a flash of movement at the very edge of the light. It was indistinct, formless; just a smear of black on black. He only glimpsed it for a moment, before it vanished into the shadows.

Then, he heard singing, and it froze his blood to ice. 

_For I did murder that dear little girl_

It was the same soft, lilting voice as before, echoing off the stone walls until Ardyn could not say whether it came from nearby or far away

_Whose name was_

There, the voice stopped, not trailing off so much as it breaking cleanly. A moment later, it picked the line up at the beginning

_Whose name was_

Ardyn did not move. He couldn’t see a thing, but all his remaining senses were sharp and attuned as he tried to locate the creature in the void.

_Whose name was_

_Whose name was_

_Whose name was_

The last note hung in the air for a beat. What came next was a blood-curdling shriek. It was not the cry of a ravenous beast. No, it was something much worse. The same maiden’s voice, hijacked in the service of scream of utter terror, utter despair. It filled the darkness; Ardyn was surrounded by it, penetrated from all sides.

He moved before he was aware that he would, digging in his heels and trying to scramble back. His boots slipped on the loose packed floor, sending gravel and bone fragments flying. He smelled rot and decay, a noxious cloud of it driven towards him on a foul wind. Ardyn put his arm up to shield his face as a weight crashed into him, driving the air out of him in a harsh cough.

The beast loomed above him, a twisted creature with skeletal limbs of inhuman strength. Its eyes were two black and bottomless holes, its mouth impossibly wide and full of dagger-like teeth, arrayed in rows like a shark’s. A ribbon of ice-cold saliva dripped from its lipless mouth as its toothy jaws parted.

It spoke without moving its lips, in the lilting voice of a maiden that echoed up from within.

“Pretty pretty prince,” the creature cooed. “Dressed in blood from head to toe.”

A bifurcated tongue slithered from between its teeth and glided slowly up Ardyn’s cheek.

“You taste as sweet as death.” It was still the voice of a girl, but it had taken on a rough edge, like ground glass. “Inside you will be black as endless night. Let me let it out, my prince.”

The demon brushed his cheek with one hand. The flesh was leather-rough, and studded with ridges of bone. Each skeletal and impossible long finger was tipped with a sharp, yellowing nail. It moved slowly, deliberately, knowing that there was no need to rush, that they had all the time they could ever need down here.

One broken nail bit into Ardyn’s skin, drawing blood. That snapped him out of it. He raised the spirit lantern so that its light fell over the demon. So insufficient it seemed, yet the creature still shrank from it.

Ardyn brought the torch around, striking the demon full in the face. The creature gave an indignant shriek, reeling back more to escape the light then because Ardyn had managed to inflict any real damage to it. It was enough to allow him to slip out from under the creature’s spindly bulk.

A trail of glowing liquid spattered the stones. He had managed to crack the globe set into the spirit lantern, and it was now slowly leaking phosphorescence from within. For now, at least, the light remained bright enough, as he swung it around wildly, looking for an escape.

A tunnel branched off from the creature’s lair. Ardyn took a single step towards it, but the demon had already circled around to cut off his escape. It was careful to keep back, just out of the light. But the light was fading fast. Ardyn thrust the spirit lantern out in front of him, to keep the beast at bay. He tried to dodge around it, but the demon stalked him from the darkness, its claws scraping against the bones that littered the floor of the cavern.

Its fangs pried open, and a familiar voice bubbled up from within the black depths.

“Don’t you want me?” the creature said in Ignis’ voice. “Come, I’ll show you how I love you.”

His soft and silken tones were unmistakable, as if Ignis really were calling to him from just beyond the demon’s jaws. All he needed to do was temper his stubborn pride and go to him. They could be together. Out of sight of the Astral Gods. Beyond even death.

The torch dropped to his side and his fingers went slack around it. As he stepped forward, entranced, the light fell from his hand and struck the ground. It rang hollowly against the stone, the sound breaking the spell that had been cast over him. In an instant, Ardyn took stock of his surroundings.

He had stepped forward, practically into the demon’s waiting claws. With a gasp, he flinched back. The demon did not pursue him; instead, it just watched him with its dead back eyes.

“Where’s Ignis?” Ardyn demanded. His voice sounded a good deal steadier than his trembling hands felt.

The demon giggled in the voice of a girl, but then the sound that issued from its throat took on the dulcet, accented tones of Ignis’ voice once more. “Dead, my love, as you are dead. Come closer, my love, and see for yourself.”

Ardyn’s eyes narrowed. Bending swiftly at the knees, without taking his eyes away from the creature, he stooped and retrieved the torch.

“Liar,” he said, weighting the weapon in his hand.

“Come and see,” Ignis’ voice coaxed him. “I’ll make it worth your while. For aren’t we all dead, prince? Or at least we will be, with a little patience.”

“I don’t think so,” Ardyn replied flatly. He knew Ignis would never have fallen prey to such an irritatingly melodramatic demon as this one. No, he simply wouldn’t have stood for it. Growing tired of the game with the impatience only ageless creatures had, the demon dropped the act. A scream that sounded like neither Ignis nor the girl ripped from its throat and it lunged towards him.

Ardyn was ready for it. He raised the torch high above his head and then brought it down, cracking the demon solidly across the toothy jaw.

The spirit lantern cracked a second time, leaving a smudge of glowing liquid on the demon’s face. It screeched as the white magic burned its flesh, reeling back and clawing at the offending spot. 

Ardyn took a little pleasure in having shut the creature up at last, but he did not stay to savor it. Seeing an opportunity, he bolted down one of the branching corridors. He realized his mistake almost at once, as the tunnel began to narrow. Ardyn hesitated, but he could already hear the creature on his heels, its claws and its teeth and its hunger closing on him fast.

Turning his body sideways, Ardyn wedged one shoulder into the gap and forced his way through. The obsidian crystals studding the walls snatched at his clothes, drawing blood. In an instant, the passage was so narrow that he could no longer lift the torch or turn his head back to face the demon. It, too, had reached the narrow stretch of the tunnel, but it flattened and contorted its body like a rat squeezing beneath a door. Slowed, but not by much.

The foul smell of rotting flesh filled the enclosed space, making Ardyn gag. With the torch pinned at his side, he could see nothing of the tunnel ahead, only knowing that the passage opened up again when his hand broke through to the other side. He tried to force himself forward, but a protruding rock dug into his hip.

He was stuck, wedged in place with the hot breath of the creature inching ever closer. His free hand scratched uselessly at the rock, searching for a handhold and finding nothing but glass-smooth stone.

All at once, an iron grip closed around his wrist.

His lungs were too compressed by the walls to cry out, neither in shock when this new assailant took hold of him, nor in pain he was abruptly wrenched free of the narrow passageway. The stone that had trapped him dug deep into his hip, but then it tore away, and he was stumbling free, out of the corridor and into an open chamber.

Ardyn would have fallen, but the grip on his wrist jerked him upright. He found himself face to face with Gladio.

Overcome by a feeling that was not exactly relief, Ardyn got his bearings. Gladio waited until he was steady on his feet before releasing him, but once he had he snorted, “Thought you might be Ignis.”

“Likewise,” Ardyn replied.

Neither of them had a chance to say more; at that moment a low, guttural cry echoed out of the gap in the rock from which Ardyn had just emerged.

They all moved at once. Ardyn swung around to face the threat, but by the time he did, Gladio had already moved in front of him, wedging a solid shoulder between Ardyn and the demon. Even Prompto, who had been circling them both warily, and from a distance, came forward now without hesitation.

He held a torch in one hand, and as he moved the light fell over the crack through which Ardyn had come. They could see back into it, a little ways at least, and Ardyn immediately wished that he could not.

The demon was still squeezing itself through the impossibly narrow space. Its body was nearly flat, and it contorted and writhed like a knot of serpents, twisting around protruding rocks, almost seeming to pour itself through the gap.

Gladio sucked in a sharp breath, but when he spoke his voice was steady. “You know where Ignis is?”

“I know where he would have gone,” Ardyn replied. “Though not if he made it there.”

Prompto put in, “It was a real dick move to run off like that. You tell him that when you find him.”

Ardyn set his jaw, stubbornly refusing to understand what he was being told. His eyes were riveted on the demon as it inched closer. Its bone-white teeth shone in the light of Prompto’s spirit lantern, growing ever closer, ever larger, ever hungrier.

“I’m not your messenger,” Ardyn said quietly, without heat. “You’ll tell him yourself.”

“Get moving,” Gladio said. “We don’t need you to handle a monster.”

Ardyn felt a deep dread at the words. They chilled him, even more than the sight of the demon which was no more than a few meters away now, moving slowly but steadily.

“I’ll do no such thing,” he replied. “Of all the insults you have tried to hurl at me, this has to be the most absurd, the most illogical--”

He might have kept talking until the demon arrived to silence him, but Prompto abruptly cut him off.

“Would you just shut up and go?” he all but shouted. His voice was tight, thin, like an overdrawn bow, but his shooting hand was steady. “If you know where Ignis is, then do something decent for once and go find him. We’ll cover you here, whatever that thing is.”

Ardyn’s jaw dropped open. He said nothing for a long moment, simply stared at the back of Gladio’s proud head, the tilt of Prompto’s determined jaw. Scarcely believing that they would choose to stay behind; scarcely comprehending that they were doing it to protect him.

“You’re the only one who can do this,” Gladio said calmly. “I don’t have to like it. I just have to accept it. Even if you don’t find Ignis, then go ahead to the altar. Do what you need to do.”

Ardyn glared at him. It flew in the face of everything that he knew. That they, who had suffered so much at his fate-cursed hand, would do anything for him now. All the horrors they had endured had made them strong and cautious, but not selfish.

Somehow, against all logic and reason, they were letting him go. Trusting him to go. To do his duty.

All at once, there were tears in his eyes, hot and bewildering. Ardyn scrubbed them away on his tattered sleeve and said. “This is an affront I cannot forgive. Rest assured, I’ll pay you back all that is owed and more.”

Blinking furiously against another onslaught of emotion, Ardyn took a step back. He began to turn, then hesitated, looked back.

Prompto and Gladio stood poised at the gap in the wall, weapons in hand. They were prepared to face what would come, but they had no idea what they were getting into. 

“It doesn’t like the light,” Ardyn said. “Strike at it in the light.”

Gladio’s head turned a fraction of an inch, so he could just barely see Ardyn out of the corner of his eye. He dipped his chin in an almost imperceptible nod.

It was more than he could be expected to bear. Ardyn turned sharply on his heels and fled.


	18. Chapter 18

How dare they do this to him?

It was the one thought that kept repeating in Ardyn’s head, growing more furious and more hysterical with each iteration. How dare they presume to protect him? How dare they think that he might be shamed or guilted into doing the right thing?

He would make them all sorry, sorrier than before. Especially Ignis, if he could find him. Offering up a prayer for whichever of the Astral Gods might be bored enough to listen, Ardyn asked only that he find Ignis in time. That he still be alive so that Ardyn could tell him exactly what he thought of his disappearing like this.

As for Prompto and Gladio, Ardyn might have had words for them as well, if only he could stop thinking about his last glimpse of them. How determined they had looked, how weary. They had been through it all before, Ardyn knew. Either of them would have willingly sacrificed himself for Noctis, and once they had both seemed a little too eager to do exactly that. But Ardyn had taken great care to ensure that, in this life or any other, he was nothing like the Chosen King. There should have been nothing in him that inspired either fanatical devotion or willing sacrifice.

No, no, that was not the man he was. It was their fault, then. All of them were to blame. Even Ifrit, who was not so infallible as he wanted all of them down here to believe. The great Inferian had also glimpsed something in him that was worthy of his divine attention.

He would see in time. Ardyn would show him the truth. Ifrit might long to reach inside him and probe about for Ardyn’s secret worth, but he would find only smoke and mirrors and great howling darkness, like a structure gutted by age and neglect.

Though he moved swiftly and with assurance deeper into the cave, towards the shrine at its center, Ardyn was well aware of the light growing dimmer by the moment. His spirit lantern was cracked in several places and rapidly losing its glow. Without it, Ardyn knew, he would not only be blind but also easy pickings for whatever creatures happened to live down here. He did not think for a moment that the demon he had encountered was the only one like it.

Ardyn tried to keep the lantern at a low angle to prevent the phosphorus inside from leaking out. It helped, a little, as long as he was careful to hold the torch very steady and not jostle it much. He was so engaged in doing just that he almost didn’t see the broken section of rock under his feet until he was poised to step right off the edge.

He pulled up short just in time, his toes on the very lip of a the precipice. A good three feet of the tunnel floor had collapsed. Examining it, Ardyn could see that there had never been solid rock beneath it. Instead, that section of the passage was thin and brittle, and where it had collapsed the floor opened into a decent-sized chamber on the level below.

Ardyn leaned out over the edge, taking care to hold his lantern at an angle as he thrust it out over the gap in an attempt to see the bottom.

There was a light shining down there, very faintly, and a voice that drifted up to him from the depths. “Hello?” it said. The words came softly, steady, as if spoken to an acquaintance encountered at a cocktail party rather than a potential savior or destroyer. “Is someone there?”

Ardyn felt an uncomfortable pressure in his throat, as if he had just swallowed a lump of metal. He recognized Ignis’ voice. 

“Are you all right?” he called back.

Ignis was silent for a long moment. Ardyn supposed he already knew what the answer would be.

“I’m not,” Ignis replied at last. And then, after another moment’s hesitation, “Don’t come down here.”

Ardyn uttered an exasperated sigh. He hoped that it was loud enough for Ignis to hear.

“That’s enough nonsense from you. Keep still; I’m coming to you.”

It was easier said than done. Ardyn had to work his way over the edge of the broken path and then inch his way down into the chamber. The last ten feet he had to jump, an act of swashbuckling daring that his knees were none too pleased about.

Ignis was prostrate on the stone floor, wedged back beneath an overhang of rock. A broken spirit lantern rested next to him, the liquid pooled in the shattered bowl rapidly going dark. One leg was thrust out awkwardly in front of him, and when Ardyn drew near, he saw a smear of blood pooling beneath Ignis’ leg. A glimpse of bone showed through the gash in his calf; his tibia was broken, the jagged edge of the bone protruding through the wound.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up,” Ignis said as Ardyn knelt at his side.

“By all the gods, you’re an idiot,” Ardyn replied. 

His hands hovered over the compound fracture. He feeling the heat coming off it without touching it. Though he might have been able to call upon his magic and close the wound, but it would do little good with that broken bone in the way. It would have to be set before a proper healing could be performed, which Ardyn had not the slightest idea how to do that. He was a sage, not a proper physician.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis said softly, gravely.

“Spare me.” Ardyn half-raised his eyes from his work, stealing a glance at Ignis’ face. His cheeks and brow were streaked with grime. One eye was swollen almost shut, and a trickle of blood from his split lip stained his chin.

Was this the face he had come here for? Was this really what he had risked his life to save?

Ardyn already knew the answer. Of course, it was yes. There had never been any question or doubt, not even a moment’s twinge of regret when he awoke in the lair of that demon. Ignis had always been worth it, just as he would be worth it again if Ardyn could do it all over. Though he might wander the land, a restless ghost, for another thousand years, the answer would not change.

It was wearying to think of, yet at the same time the knowledge strengthened him. After all this time, here was something besides revenge to orient his life. To fix him. For some time now, he had been aware of it, conscious of the curious affect Ignis had on him. It was as if a small, cold flame had been kindled in his breast. It cast a dim and flickering light, but it was enough to hold back the dark.

“Your companions are here,” Ardyn went on, his eyes fixed on the wound so he would not have to look Ignis in the face. “We will take you out of this place.”

“Ardyn, no.”

Now, he had no choice but to glance up. Ignis was watching him calmly, his voice steady. He was pale and there were two small, tight knots at the hinges of his jaw where he had set his teeth against the pain. He lifted a hand that barely trembled at all, and gestured.

“Look there.”

Unwilling to look away, as if afraid that something might happen to Ignis if he took his eyes off him for even a moment, Ardyn turned slowly, straining his gaze against the darkness. 

He saw it then, the doorway set into the far wall of the chamber. It had been a natural tunnel once, but carefully carved and hewed by the hands of men until it formed a perfect arch. Above the cornice loomed a statue of Ifrit, carved in meticulous detail out of a single massive obsidian crystal.

The passage beyond the door stretched away, into the depths, but Ardyn knew the place at once. It was the ancient shrine, the Altar of the Inferian. Somehow, by dumb luck or suicidal determination, Ignis had found it, and he would have made it inside long before any of them reached him if not for the fall from the passage above.

“Help me get to the altar,” Ignis continued. “That’s all I ask. I can manage the rest.”

“Just what do you think you’re going to do?” Ardyn replied, as if he did not already have a sinking suspicion. “Beg, barter, or threaten me back from the claws of the Inferian? Tell him that you would rather keep me for yourself? If that’s true, then you are even more hopeless than I thought.”

“No,” Ignis replied. His voice seemed to get softer with each word, and Ardyn had to strain to hear him. “I know I can never have you as my own. But I can still save you from his dreadful fate. The Inferian might accept a different sacrifice, if it were willing. The Astral Gods did not want me before, when I donned the ring, but they did not slay me either. I thought, maybe, it would be enough. Maybe, somehow, Ifrit would deign to accept me in your place.”

Ardyn opened his mouth to reply, but found he had not a single thing to say. In the silence, he heard Ignis draw a shuddering breath. When Ardyn turned back, he saw that he was weeping softly.

“May the Gods help me, Ardyn, I didn’t want you to die like that. Not unwilling and afraid, hating us all the way you hated us for so long. I kept thinking about how resentful you have been since you returned, how full of regret. For this world that I have worked so hard to restore, even for meeting me.”

“That…” Ardyn said, but he could not finish. The words didn’t come, and with another hitching breath Ignis steeled himself and went on.

“I thought, too, of all those hours during the Long Night when I secretly longed for death. I’ve never told anyone, how it used to obsess me, comfort me. How I wished that I might disappear, become nothing more than a heap of lost bones, and a memory rapidly unravelling into time. That’s why I’ll go to the altar, and you’ll walk away, and we’ll both get what we want.”

Ardyn didn’t let him continue. He moved before he knew exactly what he was going to do, leaning forward and closing the space between them, pressing a fierce and urgent kiss to Ignis’ lips, swallowing his protests and his tears alike.

“You can’t possibly think I’d allow such a vulgar display, could you?” Ardyn murmured as he drew away once more.

“Please,” Ignis tried. “Ardyn, please…”

Begging didn’t work on him, though. Moving briskly now that his course had been decided, Ardyn scooped up the shattered spirit lantern from beside Ignis and placed it in his hands. “Stay here. Don’t upset your leg. Hold fast to the light. It’s fading quickly, but it doesn’t need to last long.

“There’s no need for you to do this,” Ignis said as Ardyn pushed to his feet. “I’ll go, I told you. Let me go instead of you. I’m not a king, but my lineage is noble and good. Isn’t that enough? Can’t it just be enough?”

“You were always more than enough,” Ardyn told him. “Better than any of us deserved. But this is not your sacrifice. I see it now; I understand. Lord Ifrit is merciful and just, even when he doesn’t know it. He demands only that which we can spare, never that which is still needed here. I was a lot of trouble for you, Your Highness, but I’m going now. Almost too little, almost too late, but I’m going.”

Without hesitation or second thoughts, he turned on his heels and started towards the door. Any anger or fear he might have felt about passing into Ifrit’s sacred temple slid away from him as he moved. He only hesitated once, for an instant, when he heard Ignis call out a last time to his turned back.

“You can’t do this. You can’t leave me too.”

Ardyn knew better than to turn back. He forced himself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other, through the massive arched doorway. Out of the destiny he and Ignis had shared, as brief as it had been, and into his own undeniable fate.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you get to the end and think I sprung a sad ending on you, I implore you to wait a chapter.

Stepping into the passage that led to the altar was like stepping back into the distant past. Ardyn had been here before, during the reign of his brother. It had seemed so important at the time, and he could almost remember it now.

For a moment, the faces of the past - those faces he wanted least to remember - floated in the darkness before him. The regal king, his ambitious acolyte, Ardyn had known that they would betray him in the end. It had only been a matter of time, and after that evening where they had met in Lucius’ private chamber, Ardyn had waited for it with patient fatalism.

When the moment had finally come, he had felt no sadness over his loss. Only a deep satisfaction that it had happened as he had predicted. He had known all along, and yet now, in the moment, when he tried to think back, he could not actually remember Eudoxia leaving him, could not recall the specifics of his brother’s casual and careless betrayal.

But it must have happened, that he knew. Somewhere in that unruly tangle of memories that he had locked away, must be the truth. He had never been worthy of his brother, never good enough for Eudoxia. He didn’t need to know the details to know that much.

Yet, in these last moments, he wanted to remember. Then he might at least have the comfort of knowing if it could have been different this time.

***

Black banners flew from the turrets of the palace. The sage saw them when he was still on the outskirts of the city, returning from tending to an outbreak of the scourge in the mountain villages in the east. He had set all to right, purging the sickness and comforting the afflicted. It had become routine by now, but the plague was running out of places to hide.

While he had been away, Ardyn had heard nothing of troubles in the capital, but the black flags were an ominous portent. So, too, was the quiet that had fallen over the suburbs. Though Ardyn’s comings and goings from the distant corners of the realm had become familiar over the past decade, he could usually still expect a warm welcome from the citizens.

This time, though, every door remained sealed against him, every curtain drawn. Even then it did not, for a moment, occur to him that anything might have happened to Lucius in his absence.

Ardyn was still dressed in his travelling clothes when he arrived at the palace. He usually made a stop at his estate to change into court raiment and receive a briefing on any matters that might have come up while he was gone, but this time it seemed he did not have the luxury. He arrived at the palace to find the barbican gate sealed.

For as long as Ardyn could remember, the gate had stood open day and night, a symbol of the kingdom’s peace and prosperity. He had no idea what to do now that it was shut. Fortunately, a member of the Crownsguard on the parapet above spotted him. She disappeared into the keep, and some minutes later, a small door set off to the side of the main gate swung open.

Felix Decimus, the palace seneschal, ushered Ardyn in and immediately shut the door behind them again, locking it with one of the keys he wore corded around his waist. Baffled by the paranoid display, Ardyn followed him into the keep. Felix Decimus looked pale and harried, so afflicted that for a long moment Ardyn did not even think to press him.

“What’s going on?” he said at last.

“Your Highness, it’s about your brother.”

Ardyn’s stomach lurched and his heart began to pound. “What’s happened to him?” he said. “Where is the king?”

Felix Decimus shook his head. “A terrible error,” he said. “Or else the work of out enemies. It’s the only explanation. His Majesty is pure of heart and strong of will, not like those lesser souls. There must be some kind of mistake.”

Though the account was rambling and confused, but there was some sense in it. Ardyn’s eyes narrowed as he said, “So, the scourge has finally come to the city. I suppose we knew it was only a matter of time.”

“This is an ill omen,” Felix Decimus said. “The Astral Gods are displeased.”

“It’s a demon,” Ardyn said. “A disease. Believe me, it does not differentiate between kings and beggars. Fortunately for you, neither does the cure. Now, show me to him.”

At that, Felix Decimus hesitated. “I’m not certain that is wise, Your Highness,” he said with a sudden and uncharacteristic suspicion. “You have been among this curse for a long time now. I wonder if it is safe to take you into the plague house.”

Ardyn’s eyes narrowed. “What, exactly, are you insinuating?”

“I meant no disrespect, Your Highness. But if the great king in all his glory cannot resist this curse, then what makes you think that you can? I wouldn’t want to make things worse.”

It was nothing new, nothing Ardyn had not encountered before, and he could not even bring himself to be surprised at the man’s insolence. He didn’t understand; so few of them really understood. But they did not need to understand in order for him to do his duty. Still, to question him like this, in his own home while his brother lay suffering in the grip of the scourge was an insult.

Ardyn had already reached for his sword, feeling a dark impulse come over him, an irresistible urge to cut the man down where he stood, spill his blood in the place of all of them who had ever distrusted him and taken his magic for granted.

“My lord!” The voice called out to him from the top of the stairs, breaking the spell that had arrested him. Ardyn blinked, realizing that his hand was on the hilt of his sword, and Felix Decimus had shrunk away from him.

Alarmed, Ardyn dropped the sword back into its sheath, and turned to meet Eudoxia as she came rushing down the stairs from the upper floor. She was dressed in the white robes of a sage, with a crimson mantle arranged around her shoulders. Her hair was loose, and without makeup the dark circles under her eyes stood out starkly.

Ardyn caught her as she flung her arms around his waist and gasped out, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“What of my brother?” Ardyn said.

“He’s all right,” Eudoxia said. “Stable. I’m so sorry, Ardyn, I tried to help. I couldn’t do it, though. I saw the demon inside him, felt it yearning towards me. But then it was inside my head, screaming and screaming. I let it go, and it wriggled back inside him.”

Ardyn frowned. “I didn’t give you leave to use your gift.”

“I know,” she said. “And I knew you’d be upset, but he was your brother. What was I supposed to do? I thought I could help.”

“You did.” Ardyn sighed. “I’m not upset, only worried.”

“About the king, I know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My brother is stubborn and strong. He can certainly endure this single setback in his long and illustrious life. It’s you that I’m concerned for. You heard it, didn’t you? The kind of things it said. The way it tries to sow hate and mistrust.”

Eudoxia nodded. “It seemed like the king’s voice. But the things he said…”

“Don’t,” Ardyn said quickly. He felt a twinge of panic when it seemed that Eudoxia was about to tell him what secrets had been dredged up from the darkest corners of his brother’s psyche. It was too intimate, a violation of the polite distance that had grown between them their entire lives.

Eudoxia was looking at him curiously. Ardyn bent and kissed the corner of her mouth, as if that could ever be enough to make up for what she had heard, to smooth over his own absence when they had both needed him.

“Not now,” Ardyn amended. “We’ll talk later, I promise. For now, take me to Lucius. I will set all to right.”

Eudoxia’s worried expression softened into a smile. “I love when you’re gallant.”

“I’m sure it’s not the time for this,” Ardyn said, embarrassed that he was still beneath the prudish eyes of the seneschal. With a discreet wave of his hand, he dismissed the man.

“Then when will the right time be?” Eudoxia said. “You’ve been away so much lately.”

Ardyn hesitated before speaking. “You’re right. There’s something I’ve been avoiding, something weighing on me that I thought I might avoid forever. But I owe you an explanation, and an explanation you shall have. We’ll be together again, just as soon as I see to my troublesome brother.”

That seemed enough for Eudoxia. She took his arm, and Ardyn felt a few notches of tension that he hadn’t even known he was carrying unknot from his shoulders. “You’re going to be a hero,” she told him. “Imagine how much you will detest that.”

He allowed Eudoxia to escort him upstairs. She led him past the royal apartments where the king usually lived, to a smaller set of rooms at a disused end of the castle. That gave Ardyn a moment’s pause. It seemed out of step with what he knew about the scourge that his brother’s condition could have progressed so quickly as to already require quarantine. It was just like Lucius, who had always dealt in superlatives. He was the bravest, the most clever, the most noble. It made since, then, that he would also sicken more quickly and dramatically that the common man.

Ardyn had seen the plague in its latent stages before, and he did not think anything could shock him. But Lucius was his only family, and his acquaintances were few. It only occurred to him then that he had never really known any one of the hundreds he had healed. All this time, and he had never lain hands on anyone who was not a stranger to him.

Still, if someone needed him, then he had to help. It was what he had been made for, chosen for, and whatever his complicated feelings towards his brother might be, he could not shrink from the task before him now.

Affecting a calm he did not really feel, he followed Eudoxia inside.

To his surprise, Lucius was sitting up in bed to greet him. His brother looked pale but alert, and when he saw Ardyn his smile was genuine. The great and implacable scourge seemed to have left practically no mark on him at all.

“My savior,” he said. “I knew that you would come.”

Ardyn hesitated a moment, but then stepped forward. “I heard you were a little under the weather.”

“They tell me it is the great plague I’ve heard so much about. I must say, I don’t care for it much.”

“Does it pain you?” Eudoxia said quickly, with a sympathetic frown.

“Not much,” Lucius said. “But it feels terribly wrong. It’s as if there’s something moving under my skin, in my veins, all through me.”

His eyes flicked to Ardyn’s and for a moment a shadow fell over their blue irises, a portent of the parasitic intelligence within. “It’s such an intimate sensation,” he went on, his voice a purr.

Ardyn’s expression remained neutral. Whatever the demon might say or do to unsettle him, Ardyn had seen it all before. “I’m sure you won’t have to suffer it for long,” he said briskly, stepping forward.

“Brother, wait.” Lucius held up a hand, and it was a credit to the power he still commanded that the gesture was enough to stop Ardyn in his tracks. “I implore you to think this through.”

“Let’s not have any of that,” Ardyn replied. “It has to come out. It won’t hurt a bit.”

“I remembered what you said,” Lucius replied blithely, as if Ardyn had not spoken at all. “Whenever you draw a demon out, something of the host comes with it. A dark secret, a wicked impulse. That’s a heavy burden to bear. I don’t want you to have to carry it for me.”

Ardyn was silent a moment, suddenly aware of the unseasonable chill in the room. The expression on Lucius’ face: too calm and calculating by half. All at one, he understood: this was not his brother at all, and Ardyn had to laugh. “That’s a clever gambit, my friend. You have more wit than most of them, I’ll give you that. But you do a very poor impression of Lucius indeed. He’s never given any consideration to what I think.”

Lucius’ lips tilted into a smile, the corners of his mouth moving at unnatural angles as if some unseen hand had pressed two fingers into them and drawn them up. “Oh, my. I’m going to enjoy being inside of you, Ardyn, the Great Sage. But first I’m going to tell you everything. All about your brother’s greatest and truest ambition.”

With a shake of his head, Ardyn started forward again. “I care less about my brother’s secrets then I do about the dirty thoughts of some anonymous village matron. Lucius has always been dreadfully pedestrian.”

Eudoxia had been watching the exchange closely, with an inscrutable expression on her face. But when Ardyn stepped towards Lucius’ bedside, she moved all at once, darting between them.

“Ardyn, wait. Let me try again. I almost had it before, I promise you that. Let me show you that I can do this. You can trust me. You don’t have to do everything yourself, darling.”

Hesitantly, Ardyn set a hand on her shoulder. Perhaps she was right; it was time for her to learn. Before he could ascent, Lucius spoke up.

“Yes,” he said. “Let the young lady try. I remember her hands on me. How slim, and soft, and cool. I swear, I’ll be like putty in those dainty palms.”

Ardyn’s expression soured, and with his hands firmly on Eudoxia’s shoulder he pushed her aside. “I appreciate the offer, darling, but this fish is a little too big for you to fry on your own.”

Before she could protest again, Ardyn lunged forward, catching Lucius around the wrist, where the exposed skin showed beneath the sleeve of his dressing gown. He felt it at once, the pulse of some great dark force moving beneath his brother’s flesh. It did not try to flee from him, did not wriggle deeper into the host in a futile attempt to escape. Instead, it stretched out its shadowy tendrils towards him, sinking them in. 

He felt the demon slide under his skin, making the veins in the back of his hand stand out stark and black. It skittered, excited, up his arm, and all the way it whispered to him. Incoherent at first, but quickly resolving into words as the demon’s cold mass moved towards his heart.

_Poison will do, Lucius said. Slow or quick, it’s better than he deserves._

_Yes, Eudoxia responded, on the edge of her breath._

_A dose in his wine. The pathetic drunk, he won’t know a thing._

_Yes. Yes._

_Ardyn could see them now, or at least imagine them well enough. They were twined together in bed, Eudoxia’s shapely dancer’s legs tight around his brother’s waist, or else kneeling at his feet, his hand on the back of her neck._

_You’ll do it then? Lucius’ voice said._

_It will be done, she replied. He tires me so, with his drinking and sighing and his impotent self-pity._

_As he tires all of us, my love. He’s extraneous. The sooner we are rid of him, the sooner you will be my consort, a more fitting title for you by far. A more fitting position than acolyte to an embarrassment and a disgrace…_

A freezing, skeletal hand constricted around Ardyn’s heart. The demon burrowed into Ardyn’s chest, settling between his ribs like a lump of ice. His lungs ached for air, and he sucked in a deep breath; it made his head spin and his vision blur. When it cleared, his brother was sitting up in bed and Eudoxia was at his side, fussing over him.

“I’m all right,” Lucius assured her. “All is well, and there’s no harm done.”

Ardyn felt that he was rooted to the spot, helpless to do anything but watch. Slowly, Lucius’ gaze swung up to him, and Ardyn knew in an instant that the demon was gone. It was his now, like so many others.

“My brother,” Lucius murmured. “I don’t know what to say…”

Ardyn shook his head. When he tried to speak, the words caught behind the knot in his throat and piled up.

Eudoxia was looking up at him now, and though she didn’t say anything, Ardyn understood at once that she knew what he had heard, what he had seen. When Ardyn checked his emotions for the shame he should have felt, the anger, he found it absent. There was nothing left where once all his fiery passions had writhed. Only the hard, cold presence of the demon that he had swallowed whole.

Without a word to either of them, Ardyn turned on his heels and walked out of the room.

Eudoxia tried to call him back. “It’s a lie! You know it’s all a lie!”

Ardyn scarcely heard her. He didn’t bother to turn back.

***

He didn’t know how he had gotten here, but he knelt now before Ifrit’s great altar.

Ardyn could remember everything now. Lucius and Eudoxia, and their great betrayal that had never been. They had not intended to kill him; he could see that now, with the clarity of a millenia gone by. He had believed what he wanted to believe, sunk into self pity because it had been easier than mending his relationship with his brother, than loving Eudoxia as she so clearly deserved.

It was obvious now. The demon he had swallowed whole had scarcely needed to work its dark influence on him. Ardyn had practically delivered himself to it, submitted to it with hardly a murmur of complaint.

Not fate after all, but only weakness and cowardice.

It was too late now to regret what had gone by. The past was as remote and inaccessible as the future that could never be. There was only the present moment, the altar of Ifrit and the one thing he could still do.

Ardyn reached for his throat, absently searching for the medallion that was no longer there. “Ifrit, Lord of War,” he said in a hoarse and weary voice. “Grant your servant a good death.”

He called the glaive Prompto had slipped him into his hand. The short knife glowed to luminous life.

For a moment, he thought of Ignis. Nothing specific, nothing concrete. Just the idea of him, etched and emblazoned for a moment upon his heart, before he set the tip of the knife against his breast and pushed, hard.

He felt the blade go in, but there was almost no pain at all. And then, before his eyes, like a fire called up from the depths of the earth, he saw them at last: death’s lights.


	20. Chapter 20

The moment Ignis heard the voices of his friends in the passage above, he was relieved but not surprised. In fact, he had been waiting for them. Though he and Gladio had not been on the best of terms lately, he had not for a moment feared that the man would not come through when he needed him. It was what Gladio did - what he always would do - without hesitation or question.

Ignis supposed that they all had their functions to fulfill. He must have been no exception. All those times he had thought himself tossed and battered by arbitrary and indifferent storms, he had in fact been riding steady and sure on the unalterable rails of destiny. Acting not as reason, or even passion, dictated, but instead simply reacting, playing out the inevitable conclusion of everything, known and unknown to him, that had come before.

The thought failed to comfort him, but as Gladio dropped down into the chamber and came to crouch at his side, Ignis did manage a smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, I bet you are.” The words were terse, but Gladio was not upset. He seemed only weary, near the end of his endurance and, as he glanced down at Ignis’ injured leg, mindful that he must find one final reserve of strength. 

“You okay there?” he asked, cautiously.

“Yes,” Ignis replied. He moved his leg to prove as much, and immediately wished he had not. “I’m always astounded by what a little adrenaline will do. I hardly feel a thing.”

“You sure did a number on yourself,” Gladio said. “I’ll get you out of here.”

He offered his hand, but Ignis hesitated before taking it. His gaze strayed away, towards the arch that marked the entrance to the shrine of Ifrit. All was still beyond the doorway, silent and dark. Nothing had moved since Ardyn had disappeared inside.

Prompto followed the direction of his glance. “Hey,” he said. “Are you, uh, alone down here?”

“Yes,” Ignis replied. His voice was steady, his expression neutral. He almost believed it himself when he said, “It’s all right now. It’s finished.”

“He really went through with it, huh?” Gladio said. “Well, who knows what he’s thinking. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Gladio…” Ignis said. 

He expected to be met with another display of temper, even tensing up in anticipation of it, but Gladio only glanced away and said quietly, “Look, if you want me to be all broken up about it, I can’t. I guess, though, I can understand that something happened between the two of you, and I can try to accept it. Is that going to be enough?”

It was the last thing Ignis had thought would happen. In his blunt, gruff way, Gladio was trying to make amends. Ignis was flooded with a sudden affection for the man, one he had not felt in a long time.

“It’s probably more than I deserve,” he said.

“Come on,” Prompto put in. “What are friends for if not forgiving each other for stupid shit and looking past each other’s stupid flaws.”

“I think there’s a little more to it than that,” Gladio said, but it was not surprising that he had little interest in figuring it out. He set a hand on Ignis’ shoulder and made to haul him up and into his arms. “We need to get you to a doctor.”

He was right, of course. Though Ignis’ leg had stopped bleeding, just thinking about what it looked like caused his stomach to tighten. Still, there was only a little pain, much less than he thought there would be. He could bear it for now.

Ignis reached up, setting his hand on the inside of Gladio’s wrist, stilling his relentless momentum.

“Wait,” he said. “Not yet. There’s something I have to do first.”

Gladio looked back, towards the door to the shrine, giving it a stern glare to let it know just what he thought of it.

“That’s not a good idea,” he said.

“I must know,” Ignis said. “I have to see it for myself. The only other option would be to return to the city, return to our duties, as if none of it ever happened. But you know me, my friend, as I know myself. Like a dropped stitch or an unfinished line, I’d never be able to leave it alone. Better to end it once and for all. The sight of blood generally suffices to tie up all loose ends.”

Gladio was quiet a moment, thinking it over. At last, he nodded to Prompto. “You take point. I don’t want any more surprises.”

Prompto sprang into action while Gladio again took hold of Ignis’ shoulder and hauled him easily to his feet. He let him get his uninjured leg under him, providing him an arm to lean on rather than lifting him up bodily, though he was, as always, more than capable of that. Mindful, at last, of the fact that, whether he was missing his eyes or his leg or his common sense, Ignis could still get by.

Gladio helped him through the arch. The floor slanted down sharply, and the air around them seemed to grow warmer with each step as they descended. Ignis reached out with one hand, trailing it along the wall to keep his balance as he limped along the passage. He felt the rock grow smoother and slicker, as if they were walking into the core of an unblemished black crystal.

A few feet ahead of him, he heard Prompto catch his breath. “Well, shit. I didn’t expect that.”

The passage opened up into a massive chamber. A diffuse red glow lit the whole space, emanating up from vents in the floor. Fresh magma bubbled beneath the thick crust of igneous rock that made up the chamber. After untold centuries lying dormant, it seemed that the shrine had abruptly shuddered back to life.

There was a wide aisle that led from the door to an elevated sacristy housing the altar. Both were well clear of the magma pools, and even Gladio, with his excess of practical caution, saw no problem with helping Ignis forward.

A black marble statue of the Inferian himself towered over the altar. Though it was worn and chipped with age, it was still remarkably intact. The gold the sculptor had used to gild its horns and tip its talons still glittered in the glow from the magma. The statue’s face was rendered with none of the savagery Ignis had seen on it when he had briefly faced the god in the flesh. Rather, its expression was regal and contemplative, like the bust of a philosopher king.

Great quantities of white ash were heaped around the base of the altar. As they drew closer, Ignis could see that they were casts of offerings to the god. The forms of the bowls and amphora placed there by ancient devotees were perfectly preserved, as if each had been consumed as soon as it was placed. Burned in a fire so hot and clean that reduced all to ash in an instant.

Fire, too, had claimed the final offering. Bowed over at the foot of the altar was a column of ash that was taller than the rest. As Ignis drew near, he could see that it was fashioned in the shape of a man: suppliant on his knees, bent slightly at the waist, one hand curled around the hilt of a knife which protruded from his chest.

The frozen locks of hair that fell across his face were white now, and his strange golden eyes were flat discs, like those of an unpainted statue. The fire had smoothed out the animated lines of Ardyn’s face and so his final expression was not preserved. At least he did not look as if he was afraid, or in pain.

There was nothing left of the man, save for his likeness in ash. Nothing that Ignis could take away, to bury or to keep. Ardyn would pass, all but forgotten, out of the official record just as he had when he had been the great sage. A figure like that was too complicated for a peaceful and prosperous kingdom like theirs.

“Do you think someone should say something?” Prompto asked. It took Ignis a long moment to realize the question could only have been meant for him. When he didn’t answer right away, Prompto went on with a sigh.

“Ardyn, I didn’t like you much. You gave me the creeps a lot. But Ignis cared about you, so you couldn’t have been all bad. Whatever happened, I hope you’re happier now.”

As simple and artless as they were, the words made a knot take shape in Ignis’ throat. He swallowed it down so he could speak. “Thank you.”

It seemed that there was little more that he could say or do. Ignis was about to tell Gladio that they could go when he the column of ash at his feet moved. 

A tiny shower of dust drifted down from Ardyn’s shoulder, as if it had been shaken loose by a tremor. Prompto backed away a step, just as more ash shook loose from the cast, salting the stone floor. Before Ignis’ eyes, a series of cracks appeared on Ardyn’s throat, running up his cheek like the crazing patterns on a china doll. A moment later, one of the sides of the cast crumpled, sending the likeness toppling over on his side.

Without thinking, Ignis jerked away from Gladio’s grip, lowering himself with as much gentleness as he could manage. Gladio followed him down and was about to jerk him back, but then he saw it as well: a glimpse of pale skin beneath the layers of ash.

Ignis slipped an arm under Ardyn’s fallen figure. The cast crumbled into powder in his grip, but then his hand was pressing against something warm and solid cocooned within. Ignis lifted it up and the cast split open and disintegrated. 

A human form emerged, its face gray and its hair caked with ash. In spite of the dirt, Ignis recognized him in an instant. It was Ardyn.

Slowly, his yellow eyes fluttered open. His lips parted and sucked in a breath that stirred the accumulation of dust on his lips. Though he did not try to speak at first, his gaze riveted itself to Ignis’ face.

He was young, Ignis realized. His brow unlined, his countenance clear. As he raised himself on one elbow, lifting himself free of the ash heaped around him, it revealed that his unclothed body was leaner, lither, than Ignis remembered. Gray dust clung to every curve and contour: his sculpted chest and abdomen, muscular legs. Even, Ignis confirmed after a covert downward glance, the organ that lay between his thighs.

That, much to his flustered relief, had not changed at all.

Iftrit had not burned everything. Something of Ardyn had remained. It was a part of him that was older, simpler, not yet corrupted by the inevitable workings of the scourge. The flames had raged so hot and pure that they had consumed only the past, and left the man untouched.

In awe and disbelief, Ignis reached out to touch him. He stroked Ardyn’s cheek, leaving a gray smear on his hand. His fingers cut through the layer of ash caked on Ardyn’s face, revealing the smooth skin beneath.

It was enough to convince him. “You’re really alive,” he said quietly. The impossible had come to pass: this time, things really had turned out differently.

“In the flesh,” Ardyn replied. His smile was faint, but genuine. “I scarcely believe it myself.”

“You all right?” Gladio said from behind and above. His eyes were on Ardyn, watching his every move. Cautious, but making an effort to be civil.

“Do I look all right?” Ardyn asked, making a great show of rolling his eyes and tossing his hair dramatically.

“Since this is getting to be a habit, I’m just wondering why you always have to be naked when it happens,” Gladio muttered.

“Such is how we come into the world, my prudish friend,” Ardyn replied, dusting some of the ash away from his thighs and further uncovering his body.

“At least we know it’s really him,” Prompto said, averting his eyes. “No one else could be so creepy and annoying.”

“This is remarkable--” Ignis said softly, as if he had not heard. He was aware that he was staring at Ardyn’s face. Aware, but unable to stop it.

“Yeah, remarkably _annoying_ ,” Prompto retorted. “Just what are we supposed to do now?”

“Now?” Ardyn said. He seemed well aware that Ignis was watching him, and he did not mind in the slightest. His expression was calm, composed, even a little regal as he said, “Now we get out of here. We climb up and out of this world of shadows, and we see what world of forms awaits us.”


	21. Chapter 21

When they returned to Insomnia, the sun was shining brightly with not so much as a single cloud in the sky to darken it. At first, there were more pressing concerns to be dealt with, but once the citizens had been reassured that the darkness was gone and the regent’s wounds were healing cleanly, Ignis felt that he must address the one question that was on everyone’s lips.

The official story was simple, neat, and it contained as much of the truth as they had decided together was prudent. A young priest of Ifrit had helped them banish the demons. He was alone and without an order, and so they had thought it best to bring him back with them, where he might put his singular knowledge to use as an advisor to the throne.

It was enough to satisfy most. Even the members of the Crownsguard who had been assigned to Ardyn after his resurrection were stubbornly unwilling to recognize him in his new, more youthful form.

Gladio thought that they simply knew better than to go looking for trouble, but Prompto was of a different opinion. He thought that Ardyn’s appearance had changed more than any of them were giving it credit for. His hair, his eyes, his arrogant profile were all the same as they had always been, but something about him was undeniably altered. 

Ignis supposed he knew what Prompto meant. Since they had returned to Insomnia, Ardyn seemed somehow calmer, slower and more deliberate in his movements, no longer possessed of a savage and implacable ambition.

Of course, people talked, but Ignis was surprised to discover that almost everyone seemed to approve. It was time the regent settled down, they said. There was a kingdom to run, and he could use all the support he could get.

It was support Ardyn seemed more than willing to provide. At first Ignis had worried that proximity to the throne might have a strange effect on him, but in fact he took to his new role without complaint. When Ignis was at last deemed well enough to return to his court duties, he found Ardyn was already a regular fixture around the Great Hall.

Dressed in a simple suit of royal black, Ardyn was quiet and thoughtful, speaking only when he had something to contribute. His judgement was sound, and he had the experience of a milenium at his disposal.

They didn’t talk much about things that were not related to the business of running the kingdom. It was not that Ignis was pulling away from the man, but he often could not think of a single thing to say. This, too, Ardyn seemed to understand, and if he didn’t like it he kept his complaints to himself.

In time, Insomnia prospered again.

Though everything suggested that the peace might actually last this time, to Ignis it still seemed precarious. He didn’t want to take anything for granted, which was why he often stayed late in his study, long after he had dismissed court for the day. There was always work to be done. Ignis had been fortunate enough to survive this long, and he did not want to squander it in sitting idle.

One evening, after a hurried supper, he returned to his writing desk and diligently took out a stack of dispatches from the provinces that he had not yet had an opportunity to review. As he was settling in with these, he heard the door softly open and an almost silent tread on the heavy carpet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the short black cloak of a royal page, its hood pulled up to conceal the wearer’s face. “It’s alright,” Ignis said, turning back to his work. “I don’t require an attendant tonight.”

The page just stood there for a moment, not moving. Then a familiar voice came from within the folds of the hood. “Aren’t you even going to look at my new outfit? After I dressed up for you and everything.”

Ignis dropped the dispatches back to the desk, half-rising from his chair as Ardyn came towards him.

“There’s no need to get up,” Ardyn said, tossing the hood back with a flick of his wrist.“I just wanted to make sure I had your attention.”

He reached into the voluminous folds of his cloak and brought out a bottle. When he set it on the desk, Ignis saw that it was a fine vintage of brandy, from deep in the royal cellars, though he doubted Ardyn had bothered to consult with the steward before taking it. 

“What are you doing?” Ignis said as Ardyn retrieved two glasses from the cupboard in the corner. “What are you wearing?”

“Oh, this?” Ardyn swept one of the tails of his cloak back over his shoulder. Underneath, he wore the simple black of a page’s uniform. “I thought you might like it if I came here in secret, creeping in to see you right under the noses of the guards. We did enjoy having our secrets, didn’t we?”

Ignis took the offered glass from him and sipped it, grateful that he didn’t have to answer right away. “I suppose we did. But I don’t think we ought to persist in dishonesty for its own sake. That was a unique situation. ”

Ardyn tipped his own glass in Ignis’ direction, and then dropped down onto an ornate divan. “Is that what you think it was?” He gulped his drink, tilting his head back to expose the elegant curve of his throat. “Don’t imagine for a moment that I’m not angry with you,” he went on. “I’ve been so well behaved, and you haven’t said a word about it. It’s like you haven’t even noticed how hard I’m trying.”

Ignis frowned. “I didn’t know this was such a burden to you, Ardyn. You’ve seemed much happier since we returned.”

“Happy?” Ardyn waved a hand dismissively. “What does that matter? If there’s one thing that I’ve learned over the past few hundred years, it’s that people don’t really strive to be happy. It’s welcome when it comes, but almost everyone is really set on achieving something else.”

His golden eyes cut in Ignis’ direction, combing over him.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” he said with a sigh. “Bring that bottle over here.”

Ignis scooped up the brandy and came over to sit on the divan. He refilled Ardyn’s offered glass and watched him drink it down in a single swallow, as if it were medicine. “Tell me, Your Highness, would you rather I have died in that cave? I can see why you might.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ignis replied, finding the sudden display of self-pity surprisingly endearing. “You’ve been invaluable these past weeks. I value your wisdom, and your insight.”

Ardyn’s expression did not change, but his voice was softer, almost hesitant as he asked, “Do you wonder why I was permitted to come back?”

“Of course I do.” Ignis reached out, lifting the unruly red hair out of Ardyn’s face. His cheek was smooth, the soft skin around his eyes unlined. He looked somewhere between 24 and ageless. “But it isn’t my place to question the will of the Astral Gods. They work upon the world as they see fit.”

“I like that answer,” Ardyn said. “And I wish I could accept it, but I can’t seem to let the matter go. It sticks in my mind like a thorn. Do you know what I think? Ifrit got what he wanted from me and he just decided to leave the rest. It’s not a punishment, or a reward. He simply set aside what he didn’t want, like picking the ingredients you don’t like out of a dish of food.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Ignis said, as if the metaphor personally offended him. “You would think that a god would have more respect for the integrity of the meal. Besides, you’re hardly unappetizing as you are.”

The corner of Ardyn’s mouth twitched into a smile. “So, you noticed. Good. I was starting to think that icy expression you wear extended to the rest of you.” His tawny gaze crept down Ignis’ body, setting briefly on his loins, exerting an almost physical pressure before Ardyn looked away again. “But you like what you see. That’s a start, at least.”

Ignis felt himself faintly amused and more than a little intrigued. There was no need to rush, though; no need for any of the previous urgency that had flung them together and ripped them apart in surges of violent passion. For once, they could take their time.

“Is this what you looked like before?” Ignis asked. “When you were the Great Sage?”

“Who can possibly remember that long ago?” Ardyn said, but he was smiling faintly. “I might as well ask you to describe what you looked like when you were a schoolboy in short pants. You couldn’t do it. Still, I think I might bear a passing resemblance to my former self.”

“Then maybe it is only the intervening years that Lord Ifrit wanted from you.” Ardyn had sunk lower in his seat until he was half-reclining, looking up at Ignis through the fringe of his lashes. It was an inviting expression, one that pulled him in. Though Ignis did appreciate being able to reflect and strategize, he was beginning to think that there was also much to be said for swift and decisive action when the situation called for it.

He began to lean forward, but before their lips could touch, Ardyn spoke again: “You know, I do have another theory.”

Ignis paused, pulling back so that he could see Ardyn’s face. His eyes were narrowed slyly, and the corners of his mouth kept trying to pull upward, as if he were trying not to laugh at some private joke.

“It has to do with you,” he went on.

“I don’t know how much I enter into the equation,” Ignis replied. “It seemed that it was a matter between you and the Inferian, and that it was a long time coming.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Ardyn replied. “After everything you did, perhaps the Astral Gods thought that you were due some just reward to balance the scales of fate. Perhaps Ifrit contrived of a prize for the end of your labors.”

Ignis felt that his cheeks were growing hot. He tried to ignore them, but he was sure Ardyn had already seen the blush coloring his skin. “Don’t be preposterous. You’re a human being, not some prize to be won.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Ardyn replied.

“I never saw you that way,” Ignis told him.

“That’s almost a shame,” Ardyn said. His eyes had not left Ignis’ face. Though his tone was light, his gaze was heavy, reading all the small variations in Ignis’ expression. “I must admit, there’s some comfort in being asked to serve a new master after all this time. Especially when he is so worthy of my devotion.”

Ignis felt a fresh pulse of blood in his cheeks. “Are you saying that you want me to claim you as my own?”

“There’s an idea,” Ardyn said, with a glint in his eye that said plainly it was precisely what he had been thinking all along. He caught hold of Ignis’ lapels, pulling him closer. “If that is what you desire, Your Highness, then who am I to protest?”

Ignis allowed himself to be drawn down into a kiss. The empty glass in his hand slipped forgotten from his fingers, landing on the rug and rolling away. It freed his fingers to sink into Ardyn’s hair, still loose and untamed though the diadem he wore did manage to coax it into some semblance of order. Ignis pulled the crown off and set it aside.

Ardyn’s hands were working their way down the front of his shirt, undoing the buttons. One slipped inside, stroking Ignis’ chest. He took a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it so that it stiffened. Ignis let out his breath in a shuddering sigh, lowering himself so that he was stretched out over Ardyn, their bodies pressed together.

Though he was not sure of the precise rules involved in Ardyn’s game, he did feel he ought to give it a try. It was just good sense to keep Ardyn happy. Reaching between them, he caught hold of Ardyn’s wrists, pulling his hands away and pinning them over his head.

Ardyn turned is hips, squirming beneath him. “That’s more like it. I won’t overstep my boundaries again. Although, if I may offer one small suggestion, why don’t you reach inside my pocket and see what I’ve brought you?”

Slowly, Ignis took his hands away. Ardyn left his arms where they had been pinned, stretching out on the sofa so his cloak fell open, revealing his lean body. Ignis felt down his sides until he found the shape of something hard in the breast pocket of his uniform. Working it free, he discovered that he was holding a vial of oil.

“A benevolent king would make it easy on me,” Ardyn said. He dragged the instep of his foot up the curve of Ignis’ calf.

Ignis took Ardyn’s chin his hand, forcing it up. He hadn’t entertained the idea before, but he thought that he might be able to get used to the view from up here. “This once,” he said, doing his best to affect a stern tone. “Since you’ve been so well behaved. Now, disrobe for me.”

Ardyn sat up slowly, shedding his cloak. He began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off one shoulder, revealing his collarbone, the divot at the base of his throat, the fringe of red curls on his chest. Ignis watched the slow uncovering of skin, feeling his cock grow rigid in anticipation. He waited for Ardyn to toss his shirt and trousers aside before he drew him back to his lips for a kiss.

Ignis took Ardyn’s hands again, guiding them to his collar. He felt Ardyn’s hands working his shirt off, ridding him of his clothes. When he reached Ignis’ belt, he flicked it open and then paused for a moment to explore his rigid cock. Ignis passed the oil to him and Ardyn wetted his fingers, slicking them over the shaft.

“That’s good,” Ignis murmured, catching his breath. “Now, get on your knees.”

“I like this side of you,” Ardyn murmured, turning over so that his hands were braced on this arm of the divan and his hips were tilted up. He glanced over his shoulder. “Why don’t you indulge it more often?”

“It was your idea,” Ignis replied, flustered. He drew his hand back, landing a slap on Ardyn’s backside. It didn’t produce the ringing smack he had been hoping for, but he was rewarded by the sight of Ardyn’s yellow eyes widening in surprise.

“Yes, sir,” he said, with only a hint of irony in his voice, before turning away again.

His legs were spread, his back arched in unselfconscious invitation. He had the kind of easy comfort with his body that had always eluded Ignis. Perhaps it got easier with practice; Ignis wouldn’t mind finding out if that was true.

He pushed himself up on his knees, positioning himself behind Ardyn, who arched back against him, rubbing up against the underside of his cock. He let his breath out in a low moan as Ignis ran his hands up his back, feeling the play of lean muscles under his skin. When he reached the nape of his neck, he fitted one hand around the base of Ardyn’s skull, holding his head down as he guided his cock to the waiting opening.

Ardyn moaned as he slid in, and Ignis felt the delicate muscles in the backs of his thighs tremble.

“Remember to move, Your Highness,” Ardyn said, when Ignis had hesitated a moment too long inside him. 

Chastened, Ignis began to pump his hips, feeling the tight clutch of Ardyn’s body slide along the length of his cock. He had trouble establishing a steady rhythm, until Ardyn arched up to meet his strokes, subtly guiding him along.

“That’s good,” he whispered, a hitch coming into his voice. “You’re so good, Your Highness.”

This time, the ironic epithet sent a bolt of heat directly to Ignis’ crotch. His body jerked forward with less care than before, and he heard Ardyn cry out in surprise. He attempted to lift himself free of the divan, but Ignis bent over him, pinning him down while he pressed his lips to the back of Ardyn’s shoulder, the knot where his vertebrae showed through his skin.

“Maybe one day, I’ll be good enough for you.”

At that, Ignis paused. It might have just been more senseless talk, part of the half-irritating and half-titillating game that Ardyn was playing. This time, though, something in his voice had been different. It was in the way the final words had stumbled and then jumped ahead, as if they had gotten caught up in something before reaching his lips. Perhaps they were more honest than Ardyn had intended them to be.

Slowly, Ignis drew back. Ardyn shuddered as his cock slid out, but before he could protest, Ignis took him by the shoulders and turned him over onto his back.

Ardyn glanced away quickly, hiding what could have been mistaken for a glimmer of tears in his eyes. Just a trick of the light, Ignis told himself, for the sake of preserving Ardyn’s dignity and the integrity of the moment. Rather than comment, he just pressed a kiss to the corner of the man’s mouth.

“Relax,” he said softly, hooking one hand under Ardyn’s knee and bending his leg back, out of the way. He used the other to guide his cock back to his opening, sliding back in. He moved more slowly this time, taking him in gentle strokes.

Ardyn sighed, wrapping his arms around Ignis’ neck. “This is good too.”

“I’m glad,” Ignis said.

He was close now, but in the last few moments he didn’t feel the frenzy of passion. In fact he was calm, steady. Adrift in the eye of the storm with Ardyn’s arms wrapped around him and his mouth next to his ear, whispering, “Almost. Almost.”

When he came, Ignis felt the heat of it against his stomach, the tight grip of Ardyn’s body growing momentarily tighter. He saw stars, like tongues of blue flame flashing before his eyes.

After they were finished, Ardyn cleaned them up. They could lie side by side on the divan, but only with considerable overlap. Ardyn’s head was pillowed on his shoulder, his arm draped around Ignis’ waist, fingers playing along his hip.

“Are you all right?” Ignis asked.

“More than all right,” Ardyn replied. “You know, you’re not bad at taking charge of the situation.”

Ignis breathed laughter. “And you’re not a bad reward from the gods.”

“I’m sure I’m not,” Ardyn said. “But I’m serious. You have the makings of a leader of men. Perhaps it’s time you gave up the role of regent and considered something more permanent.”

On a whim, Ignis dipped his head and kissed Ardyn on the mouth. “You’re the only prince here. I don’t have the lineage.”

“Don’t tempt me with such nonsense,” Ardyn said. “We both know I’m not about to be king. Honestly, I’m content right where I am. You, though, can do more.”

“Is this really appropriate pillow talk?” Ignis asked.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Ardyn said. “I’m your advisor, so shut up and listen to me.”

“You’re telling me to found a new dynasty, as if it could ever be so easy.”

Ardyn shrugged. “The reign of the Lucian kings was as distinguished as it was long, but it all ended in darkness and chaos. Maybe it’s time for a change.”

“I never wanted a change,” Ignis said. “I never contemplated it before.”

“I think it’s time to contemplate it now,” Ardyn replied. Ignis wished that he could see his face, because his voice gave no indication of what he might be thinking. “A new dynasty, one founded in the spirit of mercy and wisdom, resilience and circumspection. What do you say to that?”

“It would be a lucky kingdom that could be ruled by principles such as those.”

“I think our luck will hold,” Ardyn said. “Just this once, I think it will hold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! I hope you all enjoyed The Drowned King. Thanks who everyone who left a review, especially those who came back after I took a little break. You guys are thoughtful and conscientious readers, and I couldn't ask for anything more than that. As I've mentioned before, most of my other work is under the name Greekhoop if you want to check it out. I hope to see some of you over there.


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